Illuminations
by PhantomPenguin
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles featuring Paton Yewbeam.
1. Light

**Disclaimer: The world of Charlie Bone and all associated characters are not in my possession, nor will they ever be.**

This marks the beginning of a series of drabbles about Paton Yewbeam and his relationship with Julia Ingledew, and probably a few about only Paton as well. Paton is by far my favorite character in Charlie Bone, and it saddens me that there is such a lack of fan fictions centered around him.

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The fall wind blew fiercely, whipping leaves and debris down the dark street. A tall, black-clad figure could be glimpsed occasionally, illuminated by the street lamps lining the sidewalk. Shaggy black hair danced around a pale face, stirred by the blustery weather. Dark eyes glanced at a lamp overhead and then quickly diverted their gaze, once again directing their attention to the ground.

Still the mysterious man strode on, his destination unknown to all, even to himself. A tinkling overhead diverted his attention from gloomy thoughts, and he swore quietly under his breath as a shower of glass rained down to meet the cement.

For the strange man was, in fact, Paton Yewbeam; however, it was not his name that made him unusual. Rather, it was his aptitude to brighten (and occasionally shatter) lights; Paton was a power booster.

Paton looked upon his ability as a curse. It was because of this "talent" that he could only emerge at night, wandering the city like some sort of lost soul. And, in a manner of speaking, Paton was lost. He felt as though something were missing, as if there were some purpose to his life that he had not yet discovered.

He had been harboring these thoughts for quite some time, keeping them buried beneath years of passivity. However, recent events involving his nephew, Charlie, had proven to be the catalyst that unleashed his thoughts of doubt and self-purpose, reawakening feelings about right and wrong that Paton should have examined years ago.

As he pondered, his feet led him farther from home, through alleys and across dimly-lit streets. Coming out of his contemplations, Paton found himself in the shadow of the now-dark cathedral. As he stared at the dark windows, immersed in night, Paton's mind was made up. He would hide in the shadows no longer; no more would he lurk behind the scenes, doing nothing but observing.

The warm glow of a light drew his attention to a nearby shop. With a jolt, he realized that he'd been there earlier that week, with Charlie.

It was a bookshop. The radiance of the light emanating from Ingledew's bookshop beckoned to him, but Paton shrank back. What was he thinking? He _belonged_ in the darkness. How could he think that he would belong elsewhere?

He straighted.

No. He was tired of being afraid, of holding back.

Leaving the darkness behind, Paton walked into the light.


	2. Explanation

**Disclaimer: Charlie Bone and all things associated do not belong to me.**

This little drabble takes place in book three, Charlie Bone and the Invisible Boy.

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The heavy wooden door closed with much creaking and groaning, latching with a click that was much louder than it had any right to be. An incredibly tall man strode into the bookshop, posing a dark figure against the warm woods of the bookshelves in the background.

He glanced around the room, removing his dark glasses once he had been assured that all the lights were turned off.

It seemed he was expected.

Looking past the shelves of books in the shop, Paton could see into the cozy room behind the counter, the lights flickering merrily, laughing at him.

His view was suddenly blocked (but not unpleasantly so) as the owner of the shop appeared from the back room.

She leaned on the counter, in a state of slight disarray. Her rich chestnut hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun, and she fiddled with a stray piece as she took in the newcomer to her shop.

He was tall, much taller than the average man, and clad solely in black. Longish dark hair fell to just above his shoulders, emphasizing a finely chisled face. Currently, this face was stuck in an odd combination of worry and guilt. The first was directed, of course, towards the woman in front of him, while the latter ate him up from the inside.

Julia Ingledew was usually a calm and cheerful person. Even on her bad days, she would only ever become irritated and, occasionally, irrational. She was _never_ confused. However, today, Julia Ingledew was not her usual self; instead, she was a rather flustered, tired, and utterly bewildered individual.

Though, her current appearance was not without good reason; she had awoken earlier that day, quite happy, only to find a frightened looking Emma, an amazed Charlie, and an extremely relieved Paton Yewbeam.

All she had gotten out of Paton prior to his sudden departure was that Charlie had saved her with the magician's wand.

"Oh, Paton, I'm so confused!" she exclaimed. "What on _earth_ happened this morning? I woke up, and Charlie was standing there with his wand, and you were sitting next to me looking like someone had died!"

She looked worriedly at him, completely unaware of the fact that had they been but a few minutes late, she would have been dead.

Paton briefly closed his eyes at the pain of the memory, the black of his lashes emphasized by his pale skin. "Julia, I feared that _you_ were dead. In fact, had Charlie not somehow saved the day, you probably would be."

One hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, quite upset. "Oh, my. But, I wasn't dead, Paton! At least, I don't _think_ that I was…"

"Ah, dear Julia, but that is because you don't remember what had happened." Paton examined her carefully, making sure that there would be no after affects from her near-fatal experience.

"Don't remember..?" Julia repeated. "I can see that this will call for a bit of an explanation. Please," she gestured towards the back room, "come in and sit down." Paton followed her, giving her a bit of a head start so that she could turn off the lights.

In the back room, they were greeted by the heap of tomes that were resting on nearly every available surface; Paton grabbed the nearest pile, and helped to remove a large stack of books from its home on the couch.

"Now," said Julia, sitting down and patting the cushion next to her, "please tell me what happened! I didn't know what to think when I woke up and saw everyone looking so worried."

"I suppose I shall start from the beginning, Julia, or at least as much of the beginning as I have been able to discern," Paton began, taking a seat next to her. "Emma was making that belt for one of her friends, but somehow one of my sister's associates got a hold of it as well; they bewitched it, knowing that you wouldn't be able to resist trying it on."

"In short," he said, sighing, "they tried to hurt you to get to me...because you were helping me, and interfering with them."

He smiled bitterly. "They tried to kill you because--" He stopped, unable to continue, and looked down. "You were very nearly dead when we arrived, Julia."

Paton looked down, overcome, as Julia looked at him with a horrible realization dawning in her eyes. "Now that you mention it, Paton, I _do _recall something about a belt. It was so pretty that I just _had_ to try it on. But...once I was wearing it, I couldn't breathe. It was constricting me, sucking away my life."

She shuddered, drawing her arms around herself. "Oh, poor Emma! I can't imagine…I'm so glad you're the one she went to for help, Paton!"

Neither could even bring themselves to consider what might have happened had she not.

"I am as well, Julia…I can't bear to think about what would have happened had Charlie not accompanied me."

They sat in silence for a bit, each content to merely be in the other's company, but still dwelling on the terrible events of the morning. Breaking out of her reverie, Julia remembered something that had been bothering her. "By the way, Paton, wherever did you go when you took off so suddenly?"

"I had a score to settle with my sister and aunt," he said, not quite meeting her eyes. "Yolanda, at least, cannot harm you anymore."

She looked at him quizzically, lifting an eyebrow.

Paton flinched at her obvious query. "I electrocuted her," he stated flatly, staring at the wall.

Julia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, brown eyes wide open. "Paton!"

He continued his ocular assult on the wall. "She deserved so much worse for hurting you!"

She shook her head, more hair falling out of it's untidy bun. She gave up and let her hair out of its confinement; it fell past her shoulders in loose, chestnut waves.

Julia turned to Paton, looking sad and worried. "Paton, they'll be out for revenge now!" she protested. "What if they hurt you because you saved me? I'm not worth that—"

Gently grasping her shoulders, Paton turned his head to look her in the eyes. "My dear, you are worth so much more than that." Julia blushed and looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes. Paton placed a hand under her chin and lifted her face so that it was once again level with his.

Deep, black eyes met rich brown; their eyes communicated so much more than could ever be put in words.

"You have no idea how frightened I was earlier. I thought…I thought that I had lost you, Julia. I don't know how I would have been able to cope with that." She reached up and covered his hands with hers.

Turning a faint shade of pink, Paton leaned in and softly brushed his lips across her cheek, lightly running the fingers of his spare hand through her hair.

Now it was Miss Ingledew's face that turned red.

"Paton…" she hesitated, not knowing quite what to say.

"I love you, dear Julia," Paton said quietly, his dark eyes alight with emotion. Slowly, not taking his eyes from her, Paton kissed her, verifying his statement with undeniable proof.

Taken by surprise though she was, Julia Ingledew did not mind one bit.

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Reviews are always lovely!


	3. Romeo

**Disclaimer: Charlie Bone and any subsequent characters/quotes/ideas do not belong to me.**

This is based in/around the fourth book.

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Are you going to marry her?

Charlie's innocent question cannot—will not—escape my head; just when I think that it has absconded, it will reappear, even stronger and more prominent than before.

Julia…I can't even begin to express my thoughts about her. She is everything I could have ever wanted, and more. She is the Juliet to my Romeo—not a good comparison for romance, but for tragedy, it fits quite well.

According to my family, it's completely forbidden for me to even talk to Julia, let alone consider a romantic commitment. The males of the Yewbeam family do not marry the unendowed; it's a fact that has been drilled into me my entire life.

It's impossible for me to even consider the notion of marriage…if we pursued any sort of relationship, I'd be putting Julia in so much more danger; she would be more at risk than she is now.

Julia is the most engaging, breathtaking, and intelligent women that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. There's also no denying how I feel about her.

Though I love Charlie deeply, the boy can be a bit oblivious to everything but his current obsession, and yet even he has picked up on my feelings for Julia. She's just so…Julia. She's everything to me. She is my reason for living, my heart.

Julia is a rare type of person, a diamond in a bed of coals. Her devotion to knowledge and books sets her apart from all the rest. Her natural congeniality and radiance draw me in like a moth to a flame; I am completely and hopelessly trapped.

If it were solely up to me, I would have told Julia long ago what she meant to me. Because of the Bloors and their ilk, however, I am trapped once again. I am ensnared by the affable and breathtaking person who is Julia Ingledew, and yet at the same time, I am cornered by my sisters and the Bloors.

I love Julia, but I can't tell her. I want to marry her, but it's too dangerous. Why must fate always be conspiring against me? Why must my one chance at happiness be held constantly out of my reach, dangled in front of my nose like a carrot to a mule? I should be happy that I spend time with Julia, and that my feelings of affection are mostly reciprocated, but I can't.

I can enjoy the good times, certainly. However, I always have this part of me that wants more. I want to _know_ that she loves me.

I want her to know that _I_ love_ her_. I want to spend the rest of my life with Julia.

I want a lot of things, though. As long as my horrible sisters are around, that dream can never become a reality. I will not further endanger the woman I love.

I just…can't.

Julia means the world to me, and I will do anything to protect her. If that means sacrificing my dreams and aspirations for her protection and well-being, then so be it.

I'll let this tragedy continue to the next act.

For now, I'll continue to be the Romeo to her distant Juliet, watching from afar. I hope that someday, the plot of our story might change. Maybe, just maybe, the future holds change.

Perhaps, one day, I might get my happy ending.

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Reviews are always lovely!


	4. Rain

**Disclaimer:** 'Tis not mine.

Ah, I love pointless fluff! The lack of plot and the onslaught of fluffiness is wonderful, is is not? Besides being pointless, this served as practice of writing descriptions, and interactions between two characters without dialogue. Reviews are delightful!!

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There was something peaceful about the rain.

It pounded on the roof with a steady and determined fervor, drumming out a tempered, serene rhythm. The gray of the sky, hidden though it was by the dark shroud of night, made the warm lighting of the room seem to glow all the more; there were candles scattered here and there, the bright flames flickering merrily in defiance to the gloom outside.

The candles were everywhere; they were on top of tables, perched on chairs, and a few had even found a home in the numerous bookshelves that lined the walls. The bookshelves were also filled more conventionally with ancient tomes, rare documents, classics, and the stray mystery novel.

Nestled up against the one portion of wall that wasn't dominated by shelves was a couch, large enough for two, that was snugly squeezed between the resting places of the works of Shakespeare and various histories of China. It was an exceptionally plain couch—merely a very basic red—which nevertheless nicely complimented the rich mahogany of the surrounding wood. None of this mattered to the owner of the couch, as she had bought it for its cozy cushions, not its looks.

Currently, she was comfortably curled up on one end of the couch with a paperback in her lap. Her feet were tucked up under her, and her head was resting on the back of the couch. She stared down at her novel in silent concentration. Next to her sat Paton Yewbeam, also engrossed in a book. He was seated a bit more rigidly, both feet firmly on the floor of the room.

The rain continued its invariable assault on the roof, but neither Paton nor Julia paid it any mind.

Only the candles seemed alive, the flames dancing on their wicks, illuminating the room. The only sound to be heard was their breathing, the turning of pages, and, of course, the inexhaustible rain.

It created a relaxing ambiance, when combined with the warm glow of the candles.

Paton reached the end of a particularly long paragraph and glanced up, dark eyes shifting from the words on the page to the rather stunning woman sitting next to him. Her rich, chestnut hair was tucked behind her ear as she focused on her mystery—one of the only fictional genres she occasionally indulged in. Her eyes glided across the page, taking in each and every word.

So intent in her reading was Julia Ingledew that she failed to take notice of the fact that she was being observed. Paton smiled to himself; it wasn't often one caught Julia Ingledew unawares. He was tempted to take advantage of the moment, but she looked to peaceful that he couldn't bring himself to disturb her. With a slight sigh, he turned back to his history of Europe.

The candles had diminished somewhat when Paton next looked up from his book; Julia had fallen asleep, lulled by the soft pattering of the rain, and had shifted so that her head was resting on Paton's shoulder. He gently brushed her hair out of her face, smoothing it back behind her ear.

Julia sighed, burying her head deeper into Paton's shoulder, and wrapped her arms around him. Paton stiffened and then relaxed, enjoying the serenity and tenderness of the moment.

He allowed his head to rest on hers, supporting her with an arm around her shoulder. They lay there like that for a while, one asleep, the other in silent contemplation, his book long forgotten.

Still the rain droned on, its monotonous voice alternatively escalating and then dying off.

Paton's eyelids fluttered as he tried to ward off the inevitable outcome of sleep. He lost the battle, slowly succumbing to the largato tempo and tranquility of the rain as it attempted to lull him to sleep, and he sank back against the arm of the couch in an attempt to become more comfortable. Paton fell asleep with his arms around Julia, her head tucked under his chin.

Outside, the rain continued to fall.

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Review! I command you!


	5. Eyes

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the title of the chapter.**

So I'm a hopeless romantic :D Sue me.

Enjoy! ...and please don't sue me...review instead!!

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Nighttime allowed for mistakes, concealed things from the world. A person could hide in the night, evading those emotions or ideas he didn't care to address, or was scared to. Some nights, it was hard to do so. Feelings became overwhelming, and not even the night offered Paton sanctuary from his thoughts.

Sometimes, though, he didn't want it to.

This particular night was special; it was a night that Julia Ingledew was coming for dinner. Charlie was spending the night at Benjamin's, and Maisie and Amy had retired early; Grandma Bone had vanished to Darkly Wynd as soon as she'd heard that "that woman" was coming.

Candles had been placed on every available surface, filling the house with their warm, welcoming radiance. There were two elegant candlesticks placed on the center of the table, and a delicious smell was emanating from the oven.

Paton finished setting the table just as the doorbell rang, and strode to the foyer to open the door for Julia. She was dressed in a casual blue dress, and had done up her luxuriant chestnut hair so that it cascaded around her shoulders. The effect was stunning; the candlelight added yet another factor to her beauty, illuminating the rich brown of her eyes so that they glowed.

Paton gave a little bow, overwhelmed. "You look stunning, my dear," he said, ushering her into the kitchen. He pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit down.

Julia smiled. "Thank you, Paton. I must say, you look rather dashing yourself."

And he did. He was clad in black pants and shoes, which brought out the brilliant white of his shirt. His black hair had been combed so that it hung mostly straight, the tips barely brushing his collar, framing his pale and handsome face.

The timer on the oven dinged, and Paton unwillingly directed his attention away from Julia to retrieve their dinner from the offending appliance. He removed the lamb from the oven and distributed portions onto plates for both Julia and himself; he had opted for rack of lamb, accompanied by a red-currant wine sauce. An assortment of roasted potatoes and asparagus accompanied the lamb, and Paton's stomach growled as he placed the plates on the table.

"Bon appetite, Julia," he said, smiling.

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Julia ate her food slowly, relishing the palatability with which it was accompanied. "Mmm, this is delicious, Paton!" she exclaimed. "You really are an excellent chef."

Paton blushed, putting his fork down. "Ah, but I'm not nearly as good a cook as you are, Julia! Your food is the best that I've ever had the pleasure of eating."

"Oh, it's nothing, really," she demurred, secretly flattered.

They ate heartily, taking time to merely enjoy the pleasantness of the meal. Every now and then Julia found her gaze wandering towards Paton. He would take a bite of food and then, halfway through chewing, would realize that he was being watched; he would swallow quickly, blush, and then look back down at his plate.

This both amused Julia and incited her curiosity; it had been a long time since he was this nervous around her.

The pattern continued throughout the meal, occasionally reversed. Julia looked up after a sip of champagne to see Paton staring at her, dark eyes filled with an unidentifiable emotion. His eyes bored into hers with a deep intensity, holding her transfixed until his voice broke her out of her trance.

"Are you done, Julia?" he asked, blinking, breaking the spell that had held her transfixed.

"…what?" she asked, dazed.

"With the meal," he said, sounding nearly as muddled as she felt.

"Oh, I—yes, I'm done. It was delicious, Paton."

"I'm glad." He smiled warmly, and stood to get the plates, which were placed in the sink for later cleaning. "Would you care for any dessert?" he inquired.

"I couldn't possibly," said Julia. "Dinner was so delectable that I'm afraid I couldn't possibly eat any more."

"That's probably for the best, my dear, as I completely forgot to make one." Paton looked so abashed that she had to laugh.

He picked up a nearby candle and led the way to the sitting room, where a hearty fire was already roaring in the fireplace. It cast an inviting about the room, which became increasingly bright as Paton lit the surrounding candles.

Julia sat on the couch, staring at the fire in front of her.

The flames flickered in front of her face, dancing and twining about each other in such a way that held Julia entranced. Paton looked away from the candle he was lighting, his gaze riveted on the beautiful women sitting before him. The flames cast a dazzling light over her, giving her an otherworldly and alluring appearance. The nearly forgotten candle was placed in a stand as Paton made his way to sit on the couch.

Julia looked up as he sat down, and found her gaze drawn to Paton; she could not look away.

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Paton's dark eyes shone with an intensity that held Julia transfixed. It was if he were searching her soul for something, an answer to an unasked question.

He found it.

His lean fingers reached up to smooth the hair out of her face and trailed down to rest on her cheek, lightly tracing some pattern over her skin. Julia looked at him with a multitude of unasked questions burning in her eyes and he dropped his hand, letting it fall to his pocket.

Slowly, not taking his eyes from hers, Paton knelt on the floor in front of her, taking both of her hands in his.

"Julia…" he began. "My dear Julia…I love you so much. You are the jewel in my life, the most amazing person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but…"

He froze for a minute and looked down, gently releasing Julia's hands. Then he regained his nerve, and pulled a small box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal a beautiful golden ring. Paton lifted his head to look her in the eyes, sable eyes meeting brown.

"Julia, will you marry me?"

The question hung between them for what seemed like an eternity.

"Oh, Paton…yes."

He slid the ring onto her finger, hands shaking slightly.

She was in his arms before she had even realized that he had stood up. Paton's arms were around her waist, his face buried in her hair. Julia sighed, and buried her face in his chest, unable to say anything.

His hands moved up to cradle her face, and he looked down to meet her eyes; they were smiling, telling him so many things that words could not.

"I love you," he breathed. Suddenly his lips were on hers, telling her exactly how much he loved her, how much he needed her. They broke apart, and Paton gathered Julia into his arms again, holding her close.

"I know."

She had only to look into his eyes to know how much.

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I love reviews!! (aren't I subtle?)


	6. The Talk

**Disclaimer: Charlie Bone and all associated ideas do not belong to me.**

Happy Halloween, everybody! This isn't geared towards the holiday in any way, but I was planning on updating today anyway. This is a goofy one-shot that popped into my head the other day; it's different from the usual, as Charlie plays a key role in this one. I'm still not entirely sure where the idea for this came from, but I thought it would be both fun and funny to write.

As for the time frame this one occurs in, it can take place any time before Chalie was reunited with his father.

You'll see why.

If you like it, review, sil vous plait. If you don't like it, still review!

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Knock knock knock. _

Paton looked up briefly, irritated, and then turned his attention back to the archaic documents in front of him.

_Knock knock knock!_

"Uncle P?" The tentative question was slightly muffled by the thick door of the room. Paton sighed.

"Come in, Charlie."

The door swung open, revealing Charlie. His black hair was as untamable as always, and he appeared to be at his most inquisitive.

Paton sighed again, and swung around in his chair to face his nephew. "What is it, dear boy?" he asked, not unkindly.

Charlie fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Um…" he hesitated, not sure how to progress.

Paton's eyes migrated to the ceiling and he rested his chin in his hands as he waited, elbows on his knees. "I can see this might take a minute. Why don't you have a seat," he invited, waving a vague hand towards the bed even as he lost some of his aggravation to curiosity.

Charlie made a space on the bed, making an apologetic face in his uncle's direction at Paton's wince as ancient tomes were shoved across the covers.

"So," Paton prompted, peering at Charlie over his half-moon glasses, "what is this all about?"

Charlie looked at his knees. "Well, I asked Mom, but she said that you would be the best person to answer my question, since Dad is still missing…" he trailed off.

Paton looked slightly alarmed, hoping against hope that this was _not _happening to him. "What is this question, dear boy?" he inquired, silently cursing Amy for putting this on him, if it was in fact what he thought it was.

"Well, um—that is…howarebabiesmade?"

Paton blinked, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He removed his glasses, turning to place them on his desk. He fidgeted for a minute, shuffling and rearranging the papers on his desk. Turning back to Charlie, he coughed, and then turned bright pink.

Charlie watched all of this with great interest.

"Do you know _anything _about…it?" Paton asked, absently running a hand through his hair.

Blushing, Charlie shook his head. "Only what I've picked up from school, and I don't think that Tancred is the most reliable source."

Paton could feel the trap closing in around him, and desperately tried to come up with a way out. "How about a book?" he suggested wildly. "They make books about this kind of—"

"No!" Charlie cut him off. "That is, Uncle Paton, I'd really rather just hear it in person."

Paton buried his face in his hands. "Why me?' he muttered. He straightened and sighed. "Very well…" He cleared his throat once again, and Charlie rolled his eyes.

Paton took a breath and tightly gripped the arms of his chair. "When a man and a woman love each other very much, they sometimes decide to take their relationship to the next level."

"Like kissing!" Charlie interjected.

"Well, yes, but kissing can lead to…other things." Paton said, looking highly uncomfortable.

Charlie looked at him with rapt, wide-eyed attention. "Like what?"

"Erm…a man has a…" Paton trailed off, clearly ill at ease.

Charlie rolled his eyes once again. "Uncle P, I know _that_! And before you ask, yes, I do know about girls too."

"Well, then what do you need me to explain?" Paton asked, looking exasperated.

"I don't know what they _do_!" Charlie cried.

"So you know the actual…parts…necessary."

"Yup."

"But you don't actually know what they're used for."

"Right."

"And you want _me _to tell you."

"Please!"

"And you won't believe me if I were to tell you the stork brings babies?"

"…no."

"Well, that's quite simple, then. They have sex." Paton said it rather quickly, as if hoping that it would be the end to his problems.

Charlie looked at his uncle. "Oh," he said. "Gotcha."

"Do you understand now, Charlie?" Paton asked, wishing that it were so.

"I think so," said Charlie. He sat for a minute, and then looked at Paton.

"Uncle Paton, what's sex?"

Paton resisted (barely) the urge to bang his head on his desk, and resigned himself to imminent embarrassment.

"Sex, Charlie is an act of love between a man and a woman, and is usually performed without clothes."

Charlie looked at his uncle. "Is it painful?" he inquired. "Tancred was going on and on about how it's something that people only do because they have to…" he trailed off at Paton's amused look.

"His parents probably told him that…no, Charlie, it's not painful. It's actually quite—"Paton blushed and stopped. Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Uncle P, can you just give the facts? All I want to know is what sex is."

Sighing, Paton looked at his nephew. "Very well," he said, resigned. "But you're getting _all _of the facts, basic _and_ genetic."

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Charlie walked out of his uncle's room, scratching his head. Why was sex so embarrassing? It didn't seem all that bad. There had to be _something _weird about it, though, since his mom wouldn't tell him and he had to practically force it out of Uncle Paton.

At least he didn't have to take Tancred's word for it anymore; now Charlie knew for a fact that dog food was not involved in any way, shape, or form with procreation.

He still wasn't entirely sure where chromosomes or condoms came into play, and he doubted that the illustrations were really necessary, but Uncle Paton's version definately sounded like a lot more fun than Tancred's did.

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I always hear about people receiving "The Talk," and so I thought that I might as well post a chapter about it; yes, my mind is strange. Hopefully you found it entertaining. Please review to let me know what you thought about it!


	7. Mistletoe

**Disclaimer: Charlie Bone and all associated characters do not belong to me.**

So, I sincerely apologize for the month-and-a-half gap in updating. My inspiration for this ran away for a while, but fear not! It has returned! I also really wanted to have an update ready for the holidays, so this little plot bunny was very well-timed.

This one is rather holiday-oriented ('tis the season!), humorous, and fluffy (because I can). I just couldn't resist.

Reviews are supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

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Julia knew something wasn't right the minute that she walked through the door. The bookshop was deserted. If tumbleweeds were indigenous to the area, then one would not appear out of place amid the bookshelves. It was two o'clock on a Saturday afternoon—there should be at least _one _customer present. On top of that, where on earth was Paton? He was supposed to the minding the shop for her, and yet he was nowhere to be found.

"If he's in the back reading…" She trailed off threateningly, and then shook her head and laughed. While it would be just like him to discover a useful text and then close up shop to investigate the information it contained, she knew that she could never bring herself to chastise him. If she were to be honest with herself, she found his enthusiasm rather…adorable.

Glancing towards the display window, she noted that the word 'open' was indeed facing the wrong way for that time of day.

Julia sighed. It had better be some pretty important reading.

She shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door, and then stepped into the back room. The sight that met her eyes was not what she had been expecting. Julia had anticipated seeing a glowing, candle-lit room, books spread haphazardly on shelves and furniture. She had expected to find Paton on the sofa, or perhaps seated at her desk, immersed in a rare manuscript.

She did not expect to find the room unlit and devoid of any human presence.

Julia frowned. Something was _definitely _not right. She surveyed the room; nothing had changed since she had left earlier. All of the books were still in place, and the holiday decorations were where they had been set earlier that week.

Smiling slightly at the memory of decorating the tree—Paton had nearly tripped over the duck trying to place the star on top—Julia turned her attention to the possible whereabouts of her husband.

There was a small possibility that he had gone to visit Lyell, Amy, and Charlie at Diamond Corner, but she had no doubt that he would have left a note had that been the case.

A small shiver brought her out of her musings and reminded her that neither the fire nor the candles were lit. She fetched a match from her desk and set about remedying that, and soon had a warm blaze crackling in the fireplace.

As she was lighting the candle on her desk, she noticed a piece of paper that she was certain had not been there before. Perhaps Paton _had_ gone to see Charlie and his family. She sat down at the desk, picking up the missive.

Julia was so intent in the note that she failed to notice the figure sneaking up behind her.

A pair of lean hands came down to rest on her shoulders, and she yelped, jumping out of her chair in surprise.

"Who—" she exclaimed, but was cut off by a hearty chuckle from the man behind her.

Julia turned around to glare at her husband. "Paton, why on _earth _did you think that it would be funny to frighten me half to death?!"

Paton smiled. "Julia, my dear, I didn't _think _that it would be funny. I _knew _it would be."

When she continued to look upset, he dropped the smile. "I'm sorry, love," he said, affecting an apologetic air.

Julia rolled her eyes and smiled. "No, you're not," she said knowingly.

"Fine, fine, you caught me." He held up his hands in mock surrender. Moving closer, he reached a hand up to her hair. At her questioning look, he grinned again. "Snow," he said, gently brushing the white precipitation onto the floor.

Leaning into his touch, Julia allowed her eyes to drift closed, enjoying the feel of his hands in her hair. Her eyes snapped open again, however, as she remembered her ire.

"Paton?" she asked suspiciously.

"Hmm?"

"Why did you decide to hide when I got home? And," she added, brandishing the letter, "what, exactly, was the point of this? You know quite well that I can't read Gaelic."

"But that's just the point, my dear. You aren't _supposed _to be able to read it." Paton gazed at her, a picture of innocence.

Julia's eyes narrowed. "What are you up to, Paton Yewbeam?"

He drew her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. "Must I be up to something?" he asked. "However, if you _could _read Gaelic," (and here she shifted a little in his arms, managing to convey an attitude of "I told you so") "you would know that I merely took the liberty of adding my own addition to the holiday décor, as you seem to have omitted it."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Forgotten something...?"

Instead of answering, he ran a light hand over her hair and let it rest on her cheek. She sighed, leaning into his touch as his thumb traced a light pattern over her lips. Paton lowered his head to meet Julia's eyes, capturing her gaze in his own.

Her breath caught in her chest as he gently brushed his lips against hers. Julia sighed into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist. His other hand moved to her hair, and he ran it lightly through the chestnut waves. Only when he released her lips did she remember to breathe, and she gazed up at Paton, desperately attempting to regain cohesive thought. "What is it that I forgot?" she asked dazedly.

Eyes shining with amusement, Paton cupped a hand under Julia's chin, tilting her head so that she could see the ceiling above their heads.

"Mistletoe," he said simply.

* * *

So I'm a hopeless romantic with a sense of humor...sue me (for what it's worth, you won't get very much if you do). I'll take a review over a lawsuit any day.


	8. Love

***Insert disclaimer here***

So, after four months I have finally gotten my lazy butt around to updating! *celebrates* Before you all form an angry mob and attack me with pitchforks and torches, allow me to offer a (belated) apology; I never meant to have such a big lapse in updating. Here's some good news, though! I already have most of the next chapter written, so I should have that up in the next week or two.

This pseudo-drabble is set after Book 7.

* * *

"Uncle Paton?" Charlie knocked tentatively on his uncle's door, but there was no answer from the other side. Charlie knocked again. "Uncle P?" His voice held the slightest tremor.

There was silence from behind the door, and then a sigh. "Yes, Charlie?"

"Can…can I come in?" Charlie asked quietly

The door opened to reveal Paton's worried face. "What's the matter, Charlie?" he asked, waving his nephew into the cluttered room. He clicked the door shut as soon as the boy crossed the threshold, peering at Charlie all the while. "Are you all right?"

Charlie opened his mouth, but no words would come.

Paton took Charlie by the shoulders and steered him towards the bed, clearing a spot with a wave of his hand. "Sit," he commanded, concerned.

Charlie sat, burying his head in his hands. "Why does life have to get a lot harder all of a sudden, Uncle Paton?" he asked.

Paton sat at his desk, swiveling his chair so that he was facing his nephew. "Perhaps I could answer that better if I knew what you were talking about," he remarked lightly.

Charlie shrugged helplessly. "I dunno…it just seems like a lot of bad things have been happening lately: Runner was nearly lost in Badlock, Tancred nearly drowned, and Billy's still trapped in another world under the spell of that…enchanter." He shook his head, absently combing his fingers through his unruly hair. "No matter how hard I try, bad things always seem to happen to the people I care about, and they always seem to be my fault."

Paton's gaze was understanding. "It's not your fault, Charlie." He spoke softly, emphasizing every word. "Never let them make you think it's your fault."

Charlie bowed his head. "I know it's not my fault," he admitted. "Sometimes, though, I just wish—"he broke off, staring determinedly at the paper-strewn carpet.

"You wish what?" Paton prompted, looking sad.

"I wish I didn't have to deal with things as horrible as one of my best friends nearly dying. I wish I didn't have to deal with the reality of there being people out there who probably want _me _dead." Charlie's eyes were closed, his voice soft. "I wish I could still be a kid."

A flood of emotions flashed across Paton's face, finally settling on a mixture of understanding, sadness, and guilt. "Charlie," he sighed, rising tiredly from his chair. He took a seat next to Charlie on the bed, displacing a stack of books. "Dear boy, I wish I could tell you that everything will be alright."

"It won't though." Charlie's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I'll always know that your sisters tried to run you over, and that Dagbert tried to drown Tancred. I'll always remember poor Mr. Crowquill, and Yolanda, and that _enchanter_, and…" he blinked, willing the bitterness out of his voice.

Paton could not hide the guilty look that flitted across his face.

"It's not your fault, Uncle P," Charlie said with a small smile. "You've been here for me from the start of everything—probably more than anybody. Mom and Maisie try, but they're not endowed, and they weren't raised by those who were."

Paton knew where the conversation was headed. He placed a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder and sighed. "Charlie, it's not your father's fault."

Charlie pounded the bed. "Yes, it is! He's never here! I didn't even know him for ten years of my life; now, when I've finally found him, he's not here."

"Charlie—"

"No, Uncle Paton, it's true, and you know it! He doesn't care about me!"

"Charlie, you know that isn't true," Paton said, frowning.

Charlie made as if to interrupt, but Paton cut him off. "Charlie, listen to me." Paton's voice was quiet, but his tone left no room for argument. "Your father loves you very much. I know it's hard for you that he isn't here, and that you haven't gotten to know him as well as you would like yet. I know it hurts that you haven't seen him in ten years, but think—he hasn't seen your mother in just as long."

"I know," Charlie said, relenting. He scowled at the floor. "It doesn't make it any easier, though," he muttered.

Paton's stern gaze softened. "I know, Charlie, but he does care. He loves you."

"I know that, I really do. I just have days where I really miss him...I understand, though." Charlie looked at his uncle, silently asking for forgiveness.

Paton smiled. "I know you do, Charlie, and so does he."

"I'm sorry about—"

"It's okay," Paton said, laying a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You don't have to be sorry."

Tentatively, Charlie reached out and hugged his uncle. "Uncle P?"

"Hm?" Paton asked, overcoming his surprise and returning Charlie's embrace.

"I love you."

Paton smiled. "I love you too, Charlie."

* * *

Can I get an "awwww"? =D I'm not entirely sure where this came from, but I liked the idea (obviously. I wouldn't post it if I didn't like it).

Reviews are amazing!!


	9. Always

**Disclaimer: Charlie Bone/anything that you recognize=not mine**

Ah, Paton loves his self-doubt, doesn't he? This chapter takes that idea and runs with it…and then gets kind of fluffy at the end. Ah, well, what can I say? =D

As to what the incident is that inspired Paton's meltdown…I don't know, use your imagination. I didn't have anything in particular in mind.

I'd also like to thank all of my wonderful reviewers--both those who have been reading this from the start, and those who have recently discovered it!! I wouldn't have nearly as much motivation and inspiration to write new chapters without your encouraging words.

Enjoy, and please review!!

* * *

Paton slammed his door and sank into his desk chair, a stream of furious thoughts swirling around his head. Why wouldn't she _listen_? He had explained to her, over and over again, that this would happen. He had told her countless times that she was in danger through her association with him. He knew that any relationship that they had could be used against them, that she could be killed to hurt him.

He had proposed anyway.

She had accepted.

Now, because of his selfishness—his complete and utter lack of sense—she had almost fallen prey to his sisters and the Bloors once again.

It didn't matter that she swore, time and time again, that she loved him; it didn't ease his mind when she told him that it wasn't his fault, because, deep in his heart, he knew that it was. It was his fault that Julia had almost been killed by Yolanda, his fault that she had almost been harmed today. He had come so close to losing her…

He pounded his fist against the desk, sending loose papers flying.

She was safe, for now. He had been so worried, terrified that she would die. Heaven knew that his sisters wouldn't mind. Then he saw that she was safe, and his fear had manifested itself as anger—anger towards himself, for not being careful, for taking such a chance even though he knew the risks.

He had told her so.

He buried his head in his arms. They had let their tempers run away from them. He had allowed his fear to control him, lashing out at himself for allowing her to get hurt. She had jumped to his defense, hastening to tell him that nothing was his fault.

They had argued.

Ironically, she had been defending him from himself.

Paton sighed, knowing that he made a mess of things. Why couldn't she see reason?

So intent was he in his reflections that he missed the soft sound of the door being opened and the sound of light footsteps crossing the floor of his room. She stopped behind his chair and rested a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his ominous reverie.

"How did you get in?" he asked, crossing his arms. He refused to meet her eyes.

"Charlie let me in," she said.

Neither spoke.

She sighed. "Paton—"

Paton cut her off. "Julia, don't. You know it's true. If it weren't for me, you would never be in danger."

"So what, Paton?" she retorted, eyes blazing. "I know I am not endowed, but I _am _an adult, and I am perfectly capable of making decisions for myself! I don't _care _about the danger."

He sighed, standing. "You should. You should have said no to me, Julia."

She jerked her hand from his shoulder as if scalded. "Paton, that is enough! I've told you that _I don't care_! You finally asked me, and I, even knowing the danger, said yes. Do you not want to marry me?"

"Of course want to marry you!" Paton retorted furiously, turning around to face her. "I only worry about your safety! I'm one of the biggest targets of the Bloors, and you are too, from your association with—"

Julia reached up and grabbed his collar, cutting him off. "Paton, listen to me." She pulled his head down so that he was eye level with her. "I love you, _all_ of you—even the part of you that is constantly thinking that I shouldn't. If that means that I'm a target of the Bloors, then so be it. I'll just have to be careful."

"But—"

"No buts," she said firmly.

"I—"

Julia released her hold on his collar, lowering her arms to take his hands in hers. "You talk too much," she said, her stern tone offset by the way she was lightly running her fingers across his palms.

He gave her a wry smile. "But you love me for it."

Her countenance lightened as she laughed, and she rested her head on his chest. "I do indeed."

"You know, my dear" he remarked, idly trailing a hand through her hair, "I can't recall a time when I've seen you speak so passionately."

A blush rose to Julia's cheeks. "Ah…well…" she stammered, not meeting his eyes, "I do hope you'll forgive me, Paton. I didn't mean to be so ardent in my convictions."

He grinned outright and his hand stilled, coming to rest on her shoulder. "I have no doubt that you did mean it, dear Julia."

She smiled back, still red, and buried her face in his chest. "I love you, you idiot man," she said, "and you should just accept that."

"I know, my dear, and I do." he said. "I just could not bear it if something were to happen to you because of me."

"Paton," she said, drawing back slightly from him, "you do know that I feel just the same amount of worry for _you_, don't you? I live with most of the same fears that you do--that I will never see the people I love most again. Both you and Emma are endowed and are against all that the Bloors do. If that's not cause enough for fear, I don't know what is."

Her voice softened to barely more than a whisper. "And yet, I let Emma return to the academy for each new semester. I don't stop you from going on your trips, or from doing all that you can to thwart your sisters."

Tucking her head underneath his chin, she sighed. "I'm always scared for both of you, Paton, but never for myself. Tell me, do you ever worry about your own safety when you know something is afoot, or do you automatically start worrying about me, about Charlie?"

Sighing, Paton closed his eyes. He knew that the battle had been lost. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rested his cheek against the top of her head. "You seem to already know my answer," he said. "Can you ever forgive me, my dear?"

She tilted his chin so that her eyes, shining with sincerity, were boring into his. "Always."

* * *

This one kind of just wrote itself. I made Julia more opinionated than she generally comes across in the books, but she always struck me as a character that could really have a temper if the right thing would happen to spark it.

Reviews are amazing!!


	10. Starlight

**Disclaimer: I own nothing even remotely associated with Charlie Bone (except the books). **

I think I've finally realized why I love writing this collection so much; it allows me to go out of my little bubble of fiction writing and experiment with new styles and genres. Since it's all based around one character, I can focus on points in his life that encompass every genre of writing, and stretch my imagination in the process.

For Paton's mother, I drew on both my imagination and the descriptions and name offered by the books.

* * *

The stars twinkled merrily, casting an unearthly glow on the face of the young boy beneath the shimmering sky. He lay sprawled out in the grass, hands resting behind his head as he gazed into the night sky. Around him, the grass danced in an intricate pattern, encouraged by the warm summer breeze.

He closed his eyes, sighing in contentment. The world was truly a calmer place at night; there were no disturbances, no lights. Lying amid nature, alone but for the sky above, Paton basked in the starlight, enjoying his peace and solitude.

Sable eyes opened again, gleaming in the silver light of the stars. Paton stared up at the stars in wonder and envy. These were the only lights he could look upon now—firelight and starlight.

He was only truly comfortable at night now, which suited him fine—the night sky was beautiful.

A rustle in the grass startled him out of his reverie. He turned his head, seeking the intruder to his private world. From such a low vantage point, all he could see were the person's feet: they were delicate, clad in light sandals, and barely made any noise against the ground.

Paton allowed himself to relax, shifting his gaze back to the sky above. "Hello, mother," he said, teeth glimmering in the starlight as he grinned.

She took a seat beside him, looking down at the peaceful expression on her youngest child's face. "Paton, you know that you aren't supposed to be out here this late," she said, giving him a reproachful look.

Paton looked at her guiltily. "I know…" He glanced back up at the stars. "It's so nice out here, though."

He sounded so innocent that her stern façade crumbled and she smiled, relaxing. "It is, isn't it?" She lay back against the ground and raised her eyes to the heavens. "Can you find any constellations, Paton?"

Nodding emphatically, he shifted so that he could raise an arm to point. "See, there's Hercules, and there's the triangle with Polaris." Awkwardly, he sat up, turning to face his mother. "They're so bright, Mom, even when they're so far away." His eyes opened in wonder. "I bet they're _really _bright when you're closer."

"I'm sure they are, mon petit," she said, her eyes twinkling.

Yawning, Paton turned to face her, propping himself up on one arm. "I love the night," he said, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "It's bright and dark at the same time. It's peaceful, too. There aren't any explosions."

Solange sat up, drawing her son into her lap. "You do not have to hide in the dark, Paton," she said, carefully keeping her tone light. "Your endowment is something to be proud of, not something to hide."

He looked up at her, eyes wide and innocent. "I know. It's just easier to avoid lights. That way there won't be any accidents."

She sighed, accepting that she could not change his mind. "Tu es un enfant de le nuit," she murmured, running a light hand through his black hair.

Paton looked at her with sleepy eyes. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked drowsily.

"No, Paton, there is nothing wrong with it," she said, smiling down at him. "Most people prefer day over night, though; I do not wish for you to isolate yourself over an endowment that you should be proud of."

"'S okay," he muttered, stifling a yawn. "I like the night, and most people don't understand anyway." He gave in to his exhaustion and relaxed against his mother, wrapping his arms around her and nestling his head underneath her chin.

Solange held him close, smoothing the hair out of his pale face. His endowment was hard on him, she knew, especially as young as he was, and she hated to see him so distant from the rest of the world. "You have a hard gift to bear, love," she murmured. Holding him close, she stared back up at the sky.

They sat together in the shelter of night—one awake and deep in thought, the other in the peaceful realms of sleep—while, high above, the stars continued to shine.

* * *

I'm really starting to enjoy writing little blips of Paton's past. It's very fun to try to incorporate his personality and preferences into the mind and temperaments of a child, and then to make it into a little story. The sentance in French says, "You are a child of the night," for those of you who don't speak any French (I only speak a bit myself so far).

Please review! I'd love to hear (...read) your opinions!


	11. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: Charlie Bone doesn't belong to me.**

Here's to regular updating and long chapters! You get a double treat today! This is a bit different from what I usually write, and if you don't get it at first, well, stick with it and you'll understand. I have to say, this was a very fun chapter to write!

Enjoy, and please review!!

* * *

A heavy vapor sat stagnant in the air, cool and clammy to the touch. Tendrils of mist curled about Paton's feet and gathered in front of his face, completely obscuring his vision. "Where am I?" he breathed, waving a hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear away the mist.

He shivered, affected by the chill in the air.

The mist was everywhere, the cool precipitation beading in his hair. Every breath he took in this strange place was painful, filling his lungs with frosty air.

"Hello?" he called, but the only answer he received was an echo. "Hello?" he yelled again. "Where am I?" He gasped at the icy pain that shot through his chest; the mist felt like it was passing straight through him.

Paton took a step forward, and then another, staggering through the waves of energy-sapping fog. The effort proved to be too much, though, and he collapsed, landing hard on the unforgiving ground.

"Paton." A shape appeared in the mist, hovering just beyond his range of vision. "Paton, you failed me. You let them win." The shape drifted closer, its figure slowly coming into focus.

He gasped. "Julia!" Slowly, he lifted himself to his knees. "No—"

She drifted closer, stopping just beyond his reach. "It's your fault, Paton," she said. Waves of mist swirled about her face, twining themselves in her hair. "You promised to love me, to protect me…but you didn't."

Paton flinched, his eyes full of pain. "Julia, you know I love you!" He raised himself to kneel on the ground before her, gazing pleadingly into her eyes.

Shaking her head, she drew back from him. "It would have been so much better if you had never come into my life, Paton," Julia whispered, her eyes hard.

"No…" Paton's head slumped down to his chest, and he stared numbly into the swirling mist.

"Uncle Paton." Charlie's voice rang out of the fog. He appeared on the fringes of Paton's sight, looking exhausted and old beyond his years. "Uncle Paton, you were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to be there for me—but you weren't"

"Not you too, Charlie," Paton whispered hoarsely. "I have always been there for you." He clenched his fists and tried to stand, but his strength failed him yet again and left him kneeling on the ground before his nephew.

More figures materialized out of the mist: Charlie's mother and father, pointing accusatory fingers at Paton. Amy drew closer, her gaze unforgiving. "You let him get hurt, Paton," she cried. "We trusted you with Charlie's safety, and you let him get hurt."

Lyell's eyes held a betrayed look. "I thought you were my friend. I trusted you, Paton."

Looking around helplessly, Paton felt a wave of guilt sweep through him. "It wasn't me, Lyell, Amy. I swear I would never let any harm come to Charlie!"

"But you did," they murmured, drawing closer, "you did."

Another figure appeared out of the mist. "Mr. Yewbeam," Emma wailed, tears streaming down her face, "why did you let my auntie get hurt? I thought you loved her; I thought you would protect her!"

Paton shook his head furiously, his black hair swinging in front of his eyes. "I do love her, Emma! How could you think I don't?" He tried to make the words forceful, but they came out only as strangled whispers. The mist curled about his kneeling figure, caressing his face with its clammy touch. Paton shuddered, closing his eyes.

"You don't love me, Paton." Julia appeared in front of him once more, her expression hard and unforgiving. "If you loved me, you would have saved me, would have protected me. Instead, you left me alone."

The tears leaking out of Paton's eyes carved glistening tracks down his icy face. "No," he whispered. "No…" He tried to yell it, tried everything in his power to make the word come out louder, but his voice was frozen.

Opening watery eyes, he gazed at the blurry, judgmental faces in front of him. "No," he whispered again, defeated.

"You failed us, Paton," Lyell and Amy accused. "You failed Charlie."

Charlie's face swam into focus. "Uncle P, where were you?" Charlie asked. "You weren't there when I needed you the most."

Paton hung his head and let the tears fall freely. They froze as soon as they came into contact with the icy mist, falling to shatter against the grey, cracked ground. Slowly, the mist began to consume him, creeping along his feet and knees.

"I thought you loved my auntie, Mr. Yewbeam," Emma cried, staring at him with empty blue eyes, "but you let her get hurt. You didn't save her."

The mist crept higher, devouring the lower half of Paton's torso as well as his hands, which had been hanging limply by his sides.

Julia stepped in front of Paton. "Why," she asked, even as the mist slunk higher, crawling along his chest, "why did you let me down? I put all of my trust in you; I loved you, and you abandoned me.

"Never," Paton muttered, even as the mist reached up to stroke his neck. "I would never give up on you, my dear. Never."

Her hand touched his chin, and he started at her frigid touch. Ever so slowly, as the mist swirled about his neck, she tilted his head up so that he was staring her in the eyes. "Oh, but you did, Paton. You did."

As the mist drifted almost leisurely across his face, the last sight that Paton had was of Julia's brown, accusing stare. Voices swirled around him in the obscuring grey film, lobbing accusations.

"Paton, you failed Charlie."

"Why weren't you there for me, Uncle P?"

"Paton, I thought you loved me. You told me you loved me."

"Mr. Yewbeam—"

"Paton."

"_Paton._" This voice sounded familiar, but warmer than it had when he had last heard it. A gentle hand touched his brow, brushing away the sweat that had gathered there. With a gasp, Paton sat up, looking wildly about. "Where am I?" he asked, shaking.

His eyes were open, but they were not seeing anything; he was still halfway between the worlds of dreams and reality. Cool hands took him gently by the shoulders and lowered him back to the pillows. "It's alright now, Paton. You're safe now."

His eyes fluttered open again, this time taking in his surroundings: there was the warm wood of the bookshelves that were nestled in the back of the room, the light and soothing color palate of the room itself, and the warm sheets and pillows that smelled uniquely of home. He took comfort in the bright morning light that was trickling through the blinds at the window; the dark thoughts in his mind were pushed back by the realization that he was home. "It was all a nightmare," he breathed. "The whole thing was just a bad dream."

He sat up a bit, resting his back against the headboard of the bed. Turning his head, he saw Julia sitting beside him, a worried frown on her face. "Julia," he whispered, "is it really you?"

She blinked, surprised by the question. "It is," she answered, reaching up to smooth his damp hair away from his face. "I'm here, Paton."

Paton took a deep, refreshing breath of air. "And," he asked, hesitating, "you trust me, don't you?"

Julia's eyes opened slightly, instinctively drawing closer to him. "Of course I do."

Turning, he pulled her into a tight hug, burying his head in her shoulder. "I will always be here for you, Julia," he said lowly. "Always. I promise."

She held him close, stroking his hair comfortingly. "I know," she said. "And I will always be here for you."

He lifted his head from her shoulder and kissed her, bringing a hand up to cradle her cheek. "I love you, Julia," he said when they broke apart. "I love you so much."

"I have always known that, Paton," Julia said, returning his smile. "I knew it long before you ever had the courage to tell me."

The sheets rustled as Paton lay back down on the bed. "What a horrible nightmare," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Everything was so real…"

Julia rested her head on Paton's chest, listening to the comforting sound of his even breathing. "I know it was," she said. "You were thrashing about, and nothing I could do would wake you."

"Forgive me," Paton said quietly. "I did not mean to worry you, my dear."

Laughing quietly, Julia took one of his hands in hers. "It's not your fault, Paton," she said, tracing a pattern around his palm. "You can't help what you dream."

A slight smile appeared on his face. "No, I don't suppose you can. All the same, my dear, I apologize."

"Are you quite certain that you're alright?" Julia asked, sitting up to peer worriedly into his face.

Paton looked into her warm brown eyes, which were a far cry from the soulless eyes of the specter in his nightmare. Julia was with him; Julia loved him, knew that he would always be there for her. Lying in the bed next to the woman that he loved with all of his heart, Paton smiled and erased the memory of his nightmare.

"I will be."

* * *

I used to hate writing/reading angst, but now I've gotten addicted to writing it every now and then. Of course, I'm also just as addicted to writing fluff, so I couldn't resist throwing a bit in at the end =D Hopefully you guys enjoyed reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Reviews are lovely!


	12. Conversation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone.**

Man, I must love you guys…I'm even updating while I'm on vacation!! I was initially aiming for this to be set more recently in the book timeline, but after reading through it again I would have to say that it is set around either the first or second book. Reviews are fantastic!

* * *

The kitchen of Number 9 was swathed in darkness, every corner covered in shadow. In the center of the table, a single candle flickered, its feeble light no match for the blanketing cover of night. The flame had just enough strength to illuminate the table and the man sitting at it, casting eerie shadows across his face.

Despite the early hour, he appeared wide awake, though exhausted. His black hair was messy and unkempt, as though he had been restlessly combing his fingers through it, and he had shadows underneath his eyes that hinted at far too little sleep.

The light in the hallway clicked on, and he looked up, startled.

"I thought I might find you in here, Paton." His sister's mocking voice floated through the kitchen door. "Planning how to next interfere with other people's business, no doubt."

"What I do is of no concern to you, Grizelda," he said tiredly, "unless it's _your_ dastardly business that I'm interfering with."

A loud snort came from the direction of the hallway, followed by his sister herself. "I m certain that I have no idea what you are talking about," she said, plopping herself down in the chair opposite from him.

"No?" he asked. "Pity."

Flinging her braided white hair behind her back, Grizelda turned in her seat to look at the hall light. "Why haven't you broken the bulb yet, Paton?" she taunted. "Are you losing your powers?" She leered at him from across the table. "Or, maybe you're just losing your grip. Looking a bit done in, aren't you?"

Paton sighed, shooting his sister a dark look. "If I am, it's your fault," he said. "However, I am merely tired."

Grizelda glared. "Not tired enough, though, are you? You're still down here at odd hours of the night. Some of us can't get a good night's sleep knowing that you're skulking about down here."

Paton rolled his eyes. "Really, Grizelda? Skulking?"

She nodded in affirmation. "Skulking. You just can't keep your nose out of other people's business anymore. You _used _to do an excellent job of keeping your head down."

Across the table, Paton winced. "Only because I was too much of a coward to do otherwise. I've come to my senses now."

"Because of Charlie," Grizelda said, glowering. "We had such high hopes for the boy, but he turned out to be a disappointment and a nuisance."

A fierce smile lit up Paton's face, erasing days of fatigue. "Only to you, Grizelda. I couldn't be prouder of him."

Grizelda exhaled loudly. "You corrupted the boy, Paton."

"Or he corrupted me," Paton answered. "I owe so much to Charlie. He made me realize how much I had been missing by keeping my head down."

Grizelda gripped the arms of her chair. "He messed with the status quo," she hissed. "He was supposed to work for us, and you were supposed to remain out of the way."

"And yet," Paton said, leaning forward, "he isn't, and I most certainly am not." Idly, he inspected his fingernails. "You shall simply have to learn to deal with that fact, _dear _sister."

A grimace appeared on her face and she looked at him severely. "Paton, you are a Yewbeam, and must act as such. Every other Yewbeam in this generation knows where they stand—on the side of the Bloors. Yet, here you are, gallivanting about after errant picture travelers, mooning after lady booksellers, and tracking down all sorts of superfluous research. You must toe the line!"

Finishing her speech, she drew herself up, glaring haughtily at him from across the table.

One black eyebrow rose. "Toe the line?" Paton repeated. "You, who have never done anything kind for me for as long as I can remember, expect me to listen to you and follow your every command without so much as one complaint?" His voice rose. "I most certainly will not! For the first time in my life, Grizelda, I am happy with who I am, and I will not allow you or anyone else to change that!"

"And," he added, voice softening, "I definitely won't allow you to ruin Charlie's life. He deserves the chance to live as he pleases, and it is not up to you to change that."

Grizelda's dark eyes were sullen under her thick white brows. "Well," she said stiffly, "I can see that once again we have reached an impasse. Your stubbornness is irritating, Paton."

He raised a hand in mock salute. "I know. But I mean every word I say, Grizelda."

"As do I," she replied. "Continue to get in our way, Paton, and you _will _get hurt."

His black eyes smoldered. "You will not win, and if it is within my power to stop you, I will. Charlie will succeed."

Shoving her chair back, Grizelda stood up, glaring at her brother. "We will see. You were warned, Paton." She turned, marching back into the hallway.

Paton glanced at the light in the hall. It shattered with a light tinkle, sending a fine powder of glass raining down on his sister's head.

She shrieked in alarm, the rich sound of Paton's laugher following her as she stumbled back into her room. "We will see," he murmured, a slight smile on his lips. "We will see, indeed."

* * *

Not much to say at the end of this one. I hope you liked it! Feed a starving author and please review!


	13. Sleep

**Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone**

So, another update appears a month after the last. I'm not doing too badly this summer, actually. This will be my third or fourth update since school got out, and I should have another one up within a week or two.

Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

Paton kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. His head was pounding out a steady rhythm against his skull, and he was so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open. He was sprawled out on the couch in the back room of the bookshop, feet propped up on the armrest, in the hopes that his exhaustion would lessen.

To the alert and awake individual, the back room of Ingledew's Bookshop was comfortably lit, the bright afternoon sunlight streaming lazily through one of the windows. To Paton, however, the bright light only served to increase the throbbing of his head. He closed his eyes, filtering out the worst of the glare, and tried to drown out all of the extraneous thoughts in his head.

Wincing as the door in the other room slammed closed, he situated himself more comfortably on the couch. Big enough to fit three seated people, the couch still wasn't quite long enough to accommodate Paton's height when he was lying down. He shifted a little, drawing his feet closer, and rested his back against the armrest so that he was sitting in a relatively comfortable position.

He knew what he really needed to be doing was sleeping, but another part of his brain—the part that had been driving him to work so hard the past few days—was telling him that he had far too many things to do to take a break.

Try as he might to relax, he could not overcome his fatigue. Between worrying about Charlie (a pastime that he was becoming quite accustomed to), the hours he had spent helping Julia at the shop, and the time he had been dedicating to his research, he was exhausted. He rubbed his eyes, trying to ward away the onslaught of sleepiness. Julia needed him in the store; he couldn't afford to take some time off. Nevertheless, he moved so that he was lying down, head resting against the armrest of the couch.

In a desperate attempt to remain coherent, he picked up a book from a nearby stack and opened it to a random chapter. He held it in front of his face, his eyes traveling over words that his brain did not retain.

Distantly, he heard voices in the other room, but he refrained from turning to look, opting instead to lay his head back against the armrest. Tiredly, he let his hands drop. They fell to his chest, the book still clutched between them. Dark eyes were obscured as his eyes closed and he gave in to pure exhaustion. The world faded out of focus and Paton dozed, drifting back and forth between sleep and awareness.

The sound of footsteps against the wooden floor brought him back to reality. He fought back the sleepy haze that clouded his thoughts, forcing his heavy eyelids open.

Julia's worried face swam into focus, her chestnut hair hanging in front of her face as she leaned over him. Every now and then she would disappear when he lost the fight to keep his eyes open. Finally, with great effort, he forced himself awake.

"Julia," he said quietly, his voice still thick with sleep, "how long have you been in here? Do you need help in the shop?"

"No," she replied, "everything in the shop is fine." She took in his wan appearance and sighed. "You haven't been getting enough sleep lately, have you?"

Paton raised his head up from the couch. "Nonsense, my dear," he said. "I'm fine. I never sleep much in any case."

"That's true," Julia said, seizing the opportunity to slip a pillow behind his head, "but there is a difference between not sleeping much and not sleeping at all. And you, Paton, look done in!" Eyeing him sternly, she pushed him back onto the couch as he tried to rise. "You are not going anywhere."

Too tired to vocally protest, Paton merely glared at her with somnolent defiance. She looked at him contemplatively and walked back into the shop, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be back in a minute, love."

Paton was so tired that he barely noticed her leave. His eyes flickered a few times, his vision going in and out of focus as he struggled against his fatigue. The sound of footsteps brought him back to reality, and he opened eyes heavy with sleep to see Julia standing over him.

"Sleep, Paton," she said smiling. "I've closed the shop for the rest of the day, so you'll be able to rest now." Ignoring his sleepy protests, she plucked the book out of his hands and settled down in a nearby armchair. She laughed quietly to herself as she watched him desperately try to ward off sleep. "Paton," she said, leaning over, "you're exhausted. You need to sleep."

"But it's only five o'clock," he tried to object. All that came out, however, was a drowsy murmur.

Julia looked at him unsympathetically. "Paton, you've been running yourself ragged these past few weeks. You need to rest. Not to mention," she added, laughing, "you keep the hours of a vampire anyway. Taking rest while it's still light outside won't kill you."

Paton grinned. "That is true, my dear." Slowly, the defiance filtered out of him as he succumbed to his exhaustion. His head fell back against the pillow and his eyes closed. The last sight he saw before he slipped into oblivion was Julia.

He fell asleep smiling.

* * *

Another chapter done! I can really relate to this one; thanks to band camp, I've barely had any energy by the end of the day.

Reviews are super special awesome!!


	14. Lost

**Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone.**

One year ago yesterday, I posted the first chapter of _Illuminations_. If that isn't a reason for a new chapter, I don't know what is! I was _planning _on posting this yesterday, but the site wouldn't let me log in for the entire day. This is another glimpse into Paton's past, because I've found that I really like writing about it. It's very fun to try to blend canon with events that I feel could have plausibly taken place in Paton's past!

Enjoy, and please review!!

* * *

High above the city, the deep blue sky was cluttered with billowing white clouds that drifted lethargically, offering a reprieve from the sun to those below. A warm summer breeze blew through the air, ruffling the shaggy black hair of a young man. He sat in the park, long legs drawn up so as to fit on the bench on which he sat. His knees stuck up into the air, a position which—though uncomfortable—allowed him to prop a textbook in his lap.

One of the most pleasant days of the summer, this particular Saturday was gorgeous: the air was devoid of humidity, the temperature was moderate, and the flora throughout the city had taken on a brilliant shade of green. The park itself presented a pleasant picture as well. Grass carpeted the ground but for a slim concrete path, which was situated under an awning of alternating oak and elm trees, and flowers of all colors were scattered under and around the foliage.

Paton's bench was positioned so that he was comfortably shaded by an ancient oak, its massive branches allowing only the smallest amounts of sunlight trickling down to warm Paton's face. He basked in the warmth, relishing this rare day outside. The day was beautiful by anyone's standards, and even Paton could not resist the pull of nature; he had opened up his window that morning and had been lured outside, drawn by the fresh smell of the air.

His homework beckoned to him, and he returned his attention to the text sitting in front of him. He smirked triumphantly as he tracked down an elusive piece of information. "Aha," he muttered, jotting down a note on his paper. He followed the sentence in the textbook, tracing his finger along the line of text.

As term had just started, he didn't have much work to do, but he had nevertheless managed to accrue a few assignments. "Just a few more questions," he said to himself, his pencil moving rapidly across his paper. He worked in silence, his concentration occasionally broken by the passing individual.

The wind picked up its pace, and Paton swore softly as his paper threatened to blow away. Holding it firmly in place, he scribbled down the remainder of his answer and then slammed his book shut, placing his paper in a folder. Grinning broadly, he shoved book, folder, and pencil into his waiting bag and sat back against the bench.

It was so rare that he came outside in the middle of the day, and he wanted to enjoy it. Paton stuck his arms behind his back, resting his head in his hands, and settled down on the bench.

He gazed up at the tree above, its ancient limbs extending high above his head. Allowing himself a sigh of contentment, he watched the leaves dance and twirl with the wind. The balmy breeze caressed his face, filling every aspect of his being with the utmost sense of contentment.

Paton leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the walls with which he guarded himself to crumble. A serene smile played about his face.

He didn't know how long he lay like that, sprawled out on a bench in the park amid the trees and flowers. Every now and then he heard people walk by, pausing to send a quizzical glance his way or to giggle at the dozing teen on the bench. He didn't care. He was content and he was outside, and that was all that mattered.

A small tug on the leg of his pants brought him back to reality, and Paton opened his eyes to see a small boy standing by his feet. Shaking errant thoughts out of his head, Paton sat up and realized with a jolt that he had allowed the better part of the afternoon to pass by.

"Excuse me, mister," the boy began, "but I'm lost. Can you help me?"

Paton stared at the child. The boy couldn't have been older than six, and his small, pale face was framed by an unruly mop of dark hair. "Isn't your mother nearby?" Paton asked, hoping that it was so.

"No," the boy replied, his large eyes opening wide. "I just stopped for a minute to look at the pretty flowers, and she was gone!"

Sighing, Paton swung his feet off the bench, resting them on the cement of the path. He wanted nothing more than to go home and read—the perfect end to the perfect day. However, his conscious would not let him leave, and a quick glance down the path revealed that there was no one else nearby who could help.

"Do you know which way she was going?" he asked the child, resigning himself to the situation. Perhaps he saw just a little too much of himself in the lost little boy standing in front of him.

The boy bit his lip for a minute and then pointed to the left.

"Are you _sure_?" Paton asked, levering himself off of the bench. He leaned this way and that, stretching out muscles stiff from his prolonged tenure on the bench.

All the boy could do was nod. He stared at Paton with an awe-struck and impressed look on his face.

Paton felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the child. "What is it?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You're really tall!"

Despite himself, Paton chuckled. "That I am. Now," he said, peering down the tree-lined path, "shall we go find your mother?" He swung his bag onto his back and looked down quizzically at the boy.

"Oh," the child exclaimed, remembering his quest, "yeah!" Tilting his head, he looked up at Paton, shading his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun. "Hey, mister, what's your name?"

"I'm Paton."

"Paton," the boy repeated, committing it to memory. "Well, thank you for helping me, Mr. Paton. My name is William."

Smiling, Paton began to walk down the path, pausing to allow William time to catch up. "It's nice to meet you, William."

They walked in silence for a while, Paton periodically adjusting his long stride to allow William to keep up. Scattered along the path at varying intervals were families and individuals, but none were identified by the child as being a relative.

Not unexpectedly, it was William who first broke the silence. "Where are your parents, Mr. Paton?" the boy asked. "Did you lose them, too?"

Taken by surprise, Paton halted in the middle of the path, painful memories that he had long suppressed resurfacing. His face took on a closed expression as he fought back pain he thought he had banished long ago.

"Mr. Paton?" William asked, alarmed. "Are you okay?"

The sound of the child's scared voice brought Paton back to his senses. "Yes, I'm fine," he said, managing a strained smile. A shake of his head banished any remaining horrors, and Paton started back down along the path. "To answer your question, yes, I have lost my mother. But," he said, holding up a hand to forestall any comments, "not in the same manner that you have."

"What about your dad?" William questioned, panting slightly as he caught up. "Is he lost, too?"

This time, Paton managed a real smile. "No, he at least is quite well. He is at home, by the sea."

"The sea, really?" Excitement was evident in the boy's voice. "I've never been to the sea! What's it like? Is it pretty? Why aren't you there now?"

Paton laughed quietly to himself at the inexhaustible stream of questions. "Well, it is one of the most enjoyable places that I have ever been. It is gorgeous; the water sparkles in the sunlight, and you wake up to the crash of the waves on the shore." As he spoke, a wave of homesickness hit him. "As for why I'm not there right now, I'm here attending school. I stay with a friend on weekends."

The boy digested the information. "School is yucky," he said finally.

"Succinctly put, my friend," Paton said. He paused underneath a particularly tall elm, surveying the surrounding area. "I believe we have almost reached the end of the park, and we have yet to see your mother, William."

William's face fell. "But, I _know _she came this way!" he said, looking scared. "I only stopped for a minute to look at the flowers!"

"Well," Paton said encouragingly, "we'll just have to keep looking then. We'll find—" he broke off, seeing a frantic woman approaching.

"William!" she exclaimed, looking ready to weep with relief. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

The boy beamed, running over to meet his mother. "Mom! I'm sorry I ran off," he said, looking abashed. "I saw a pretty flower, and then I turned around and you were gone." A few tears came to his eyes. "I looked for you for a long time, and Mr. Paton was helping me."

His mother turned to look at Paton suspiciously.

Paton, for his part, tried to look as responsible and amiable as possible. She regarded him carefully, taking in his height, his rumpled clothing, his bag and books, and the concerned expression that he wore. Finally, she decided that this tall, somewhat intimidating youth truly meant well. "Thank you so much for looking after him," she said, extending her hand. "I hope he wasn't any trouble!"

"Not at all," Paton said courteously, shaking the proffered hand. "It was no trouble at all. William is a very charming individual, and I'm glad to have helped."

William's mother smiled. "Well, thank you once again," she said. She looked down at her son. "I imagine that you are tired after your adventure, Will. Let's get you home."

"Okay," the child murmured, sleepy now that he was safe with his mother once more. "Thank you, Mr. Paton," he said. "I hope you find _your _mother."

Paton smiled slightly, watching the boy and his mother walk away. "Enjoy your family, William," he said quietly. "You don't know how lucky you truly are."

He stood staring down the path for a while, watching as the two shapes dwindled into nothing. Turning on his heel, he strolled back along the park path, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth down some windblown strands.

The fragrant scent of some of the flowers wafted up to his nose, and he inhaled, enjoying the pleasant aroma. Paton stopped and gazed around the park, taking in the nature that surrounded him. The grass was crisp and green, just long enough to wave in the breeze, and the wizened trees above were vivid in the radiant sunlight.

Scattered around the path and trees were the flowers, vibrant and of every color and variety. Paton paused next to a particularly arresting blue iris, gazing for a long time at its azure, blade-like petals.

Returning to full height, he smiled faintly. "The flowers truly are pretty," he murmured. He turned once more and continued down the path, whistling.

* * *

I actually have a bit of trivia for this one! The iris is a symbol of both lost love and hope, so I thought it would be fitting to include it. This was actually one of the easiest chapters to write so far. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Reviews make excellent birthday presents (remember, the story turned one year old yesterday)!


	15. Dance

**Disclaimer: Charlie Bone does not belong to me.**

Brace yourselves: I've reverted back to fluff for this chapter. As much as I love writing angst, mindless fluff makes you feel so much better! I felt bad for not having posted anything in a while, so I dug this out and fixed it up a bit.

Enjoy, and please review!

* * *

Julia walked into the main room of the bookshop, a stack of history texts heaped in her arms. Unceremoniously dumping them on the counter, she straightened with a wince, twisting around to work a kink out of her back. A movement in the corner caught her eye and she spun on her heel, turning to face the "intruder." Work was slow and custom rare at this point in the evening, but even so she did not expect to find Paton Yewbeam bent over a candle on the windowsill, a lit match in one hand. "Paton," she asked, quirking an eyebrow, "what _are _you doing?"

The man ignored her, concentration bent entirely on the stubborn candle. Julia repeated her question and he turned, grinning (she assumed it was either because of her presence or because the candle wick had finally chosen to cooperate). "Ah, Julia," he said, eyes lighting up. He strode over to the door and flipped the sign in the window to 'closed.' "I'm merely setting the mood, my dear," he said.

"The mood for what?" Julia shot him a bemused look. He paced around the shop, assessing the lighting and décor. Interested in his antics despite herself, Julia crossed her arms and watched him stride around, shifting books from the ground to a shelf, and vice versa.

Paton turned to wink at her, grinning roguishly. "Why, for a dance, of course!" He lit one final candle and set it on the counter, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"A dance," Julia repeated. "Paton, dearest, there's no music."

He appeared behind her at her shoulder, lightly grasping her arms. "Does there need to be?" he asked, leaning down so that his mouth was level with her ear.

Julia gave in, smiling. "No." She turned to face him, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. Long chestnut hair was secured in a messy bun, professional appearance discarded in anticipation of amusement. "I suppose there doesn't."

He nodded in agreement. "My sentiments exactly, my dear." One of his hands found a place at her waist, and she found one of her own hands had migrated to his shoulder. Left with nowhere else to go, their free hands met. With a bright smile, Paton swept her into a waltz, cutting a path through the shelves of books in the shop. The dance was slow and casual, Julia allowing him to lead her through the simple steps. A slight smile played around Paton's mouth as he danced, humming a tune under his breath. Though she had never heard the song (and probably never would again), Julia had to fight the urge to hum along.

As they waltzed past the biographies, Paton's grip shifted. The hand that held hers tightened, its partner drawing her closer. Without warning, he launched into a tango, leading Julia down the row that housed political histories. Somehow her muscles knew enough to follow his lead even as her brain remained frozen, locked with the much slower waltz.

While they went through the movements of the dance, Julia allowed her focus to wander from the steps to Paton. His dark eyes were alight with mirth and a child-like joy that he rarely allowed himself to express. He was still humming, the tune having changed with the dance. The tempo picked up and he spun her, the move flawless; she returned to his arms and they continued, changing directions.

Shelves soon gave way to the open ship, and Paton paused suddenly. Julia jerked forward a little and frowned, startled out of her reverie. Confusion was evident in her expression, and she met his eyes with an inquiring glance. He winked, drawing her into a dip.

Julia gave up the fight to remain serious and smiled, her eyes shining. Strands of hair had come loose from their confinement, the candlelight and last rays of the setting sun turning their natural chestnut color a rich umber. Dark eyes gazed down at her, filled with an indefinable emotion. "You are so beautiful," Paton said quietly. Julia shook her head, cheeks pink. "Paton, don't."

"As you wish." Paton pulled her out of the dip and smiled down at her. "Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?" he asked.

"I am," she answered, face slowly returning to its natural color. An idea occurred to her, and her eyes glinted with suppressed mirth. "My turn," she said, and smirked at him, grabbing his arms.

"What?" He looked at her in surprise, eyes wide.

Julia laughed and dragged him into a lively jig, whistling a merry tune. He chuckled, matching her steps. They leaped around the shop, skipping and cavorting past shelf after shelf of books. The room was filled with the sound of laughter as they whirled about, the dance eventually disintegrating into nothing more than two people spinning wildly about a room.

Finally, Julia's legs gave out in exhaustion, and she stumbled into the counter, leaning against it and laughing. "Ah, Paton," she gasped, "that's the most fun I've had in ages!" Her blouse was wrinkled, one of the sleeves falling down, and her hair had all but fallen out of its confinements, but Paton thought that she had never been more beautiful.

He halted in front of her with a flourish, grinning. "Me too!" He leaned next to her, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

Julia suddenly became aware of her unkempt appearance and she quickly stood up, pulling her hair back into its tidy knot at the base of her neck. And not a moment too soon, it appeared, for the shop door tinkled, announcing the arrival of a customer who had apparently not deigned to check the window sign.

Though they were at least a foot apart to begin with, they sprang apart, Julia not the only one with a hint of red to her cheeks this time. She hurried over to the customer, loudly inquiring what it was he needed.

Paton leaned against the counter, taking time to tame his hair and smooth out his own shirt. Hearing Julia's musical laugh, he looked over towards the door. Teeth flashing in a wide grin, she beckoned him over, amusement evident in her voice. "Paton, would you do me a huge favor and retrieve a book for this man?

"Certainly, my dear," he grandly replied. "Which book is it?"

The confused customer gazed up at him. "It's just a book on the tango," he said. And it was merely a book (a rather dull book, actually) on that single dance, which is why the poor man was baffled when the shopkeeper and her tall friend exchanged an amused look. He watched, perplexed, as the shopkeeper giggled, holding onto her companion for support as her chuckles evolved into full-fledged laughter.

Five minutes later, the customer exited the shop—book in hand—with the sound of the couple's laughter still ringing in his ears. He shook his head, befuddled…so much enjoyment from a single dance.

* * *

It's a bit different than what I usually do, but it also conforms to my general fluffy pattern. I hope you enjoyed it! Now, on to a more serious matter! I am considering doing something (a one-shot, a chapter of this, or perhaps even a full-fledged story) based around Paton's time at Bloor's, and I was wondering what department he should be placed in. Unless he has some previously-unmentioned dramatic or artistic talent, I would assume he would have been in music. My question to you is this: Should I place him in music, and, if I do, what instrument do you think he would have played? Would he have been _good_ at it, or only passable (I can't see him failing miserably at anything).

Respond via review (or message, if you are only contacting me to answer this question), or just review the chapter in general; I'm not picky!


	16. Random

**Standard disclaimer applies.**

I'm trying something different with this update, so you you'll have to let me know if you like it. Not only do you get an update this time around, but you also get five mini-stories for the price of one! I have an actual chapter in the works as well, but I couldn't think of another shorter chapter that I could post as I finish the longer one; therefore, I collected all of the random little drabbles that I could find in my notebooks and stuck them together. They're loosely based around that iPod shuffle challenge that's been floating around lately, insofar as they're based around the general topic of the song. I'll post a list of the songs at the end of the chapter. If you don't like this, never fear! A real update is on the way!

As always, please read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

"Amy?" Paton waved a hand in front of her face. "Amy, snap out of it." He shook her gently, hoping she would break out of her current state of semi-consciousness.

"He's gone, Paton." Her voice was level and shockingly soft, her eyes dull. "They've got him now, and we'll never see him again."

Hopelessness washed over Paton like an icy wave, but he furiously shook it off, desperately clinging to what little threads of hope that remained. "Don't say that, Amy. Don't think it for one minute. Charlie is strong. We'll get him back."

Amy didn't blink, didn't even move. "Now that they have him, they'll never let him go." Monotony ruled her usually musical voice, her dread and apathy dulling it to the lightest whisper.

Paton gazed down at her with a sense of heightening despair. "Amy…"

Arms around herself, now, holding, protecting from shattering into pieces. "My son is lost to me."

"Lyell," Paton blurted, wishing desperately as he said it that his friend were there instead of across the country performing in a special benefit concert. "Lyell," Amy repeated softly, holding herself tighter. "We got Lyell back, but it was only luck."

Grasping at straws, Paton shook his head fiercely, his face pale and drawn. "It was _not _luck, Amy. It was _not _a mistake. We'll get him back." A slow shake of the head answered him. Amy stared at the wall, shivering, clutching herself as if afraid to let go, and Paton's jaw clenched, his eyes watering.

He didn't know what to do.

* * *

Paton ducked down behind a tall hedge, tugging his black fedora down to cover his eyes. Charlie crouched beside him, nearly invisible against the shadows cast by the looming shrubbery. The pair was dressed entirely in black—Paton in his long trench coat, Charlie in slacks and a sweater.

They crept covertly along the narrow path between the topiaries and the building, throwing periodic glances over their shoulders and surreptitiously eying the surrounding darkness.

Silence was strung out on a taut wire, the air quivering with anticipation. Breath came slowly and softly in light, measured exhalations. Adrenaline ran high, and Paton glanced down at Charlie, excitement gleaming in his dark eyes. "Are you ready, dear boy?" he asked, voice little more than a whisper.

Charlie nodded in affirmation, and they spread apart; feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent for balance. Grinning, each selected a target.

Plucking a missile from the bag at his feet, Paton eyes his chosen target critically. He leaned back, aimed, and fired, lobbing it through the air. Charlie followed suit, grinning from ear to ear. The assault continued for some time, soft plops and smacks emanating from the explosion of their missiles against age-worn wood.

Eventually their supply of ammunition ran out, and they crept silently away in high spirits, leaving three spindly, paint-splattered houses and three dry, unkempt lawns littered with the fragments of nearly one hundred balloons.

* * *

He had been gone for nearly six months now. Six long months: no notes, no calls—no contact whatsoever. She didn't know where he was, _how_ he was. She didn't even know if he was _safe_. She hoped, though. Every day she saw Charlie, she would ask the same questions, and, every day, would receive the same answers.

Head held high, eyes dry, she would look down at the stooped young man, place a shaking hand on his shoulder. "Any news?" she would softly ask, hoping against hope that this time, there was, that this time would yield a different reply.

And, every day, his reply would be the same. "None," he'd say, shaking his head of unruly hair and looking at her sorrowfully. "None at all."

She had hope, though, and her hope was all that kept her going. The candles that sat out on her counters and shelves lay in a state of dormancy, dust collecting on their long-neglected wicks. She kept mostly lights on now, both as a painful reminder of his absence and as a herald of his return. If (_when_, she told herself fiercely) he returned, she would know by the shattering of the lights.

The candle in her room flickered violently, and her head jerked up, eyes jolting open. Between the shadows of the room and the lateness of the hour, she had almost nodded off. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to think of him, given in to her desire to picture his face, pale and chiseled and _him—_she shook her head furiously. Those kinds of thoughts did nothing to help.

She turned, blew out the candle, and snuggled up under the covers, three layers of blankets doing nothing to warm the chill that lay heavy in her bones.

Suddenly, Julia sat bolt upright, eyes wide, mouth parted, hair in disarray. Had she…was that—could it be? She heard the noise again and jumped out of bed like a woman possessed, flying towards the door; it was the sound of shattering glass.

* * *

I have never been a particularly selfish individual, but I knew from the minute that I met Julia Ingledew that she was going to be an exception. Her kind demeanor, her beauty, her insatiable hunger for knowledge and truth—I was hooked from the beginning. Every moment I spend with her reels me further in, digs that hook farther into my chest and drags my heart away.

I've never been particularly selfish, but now that I've met Julia, gotten to know her, loved her, I know that I will never let her go.

* * *

Thin streams of light trickled through the crack in the curtains, falling at just the right angle to land in Paton's face. The inside of burned a fiery red, obliterating the serene nothingness that had been there only seconds before. Groaning, he raised a heavy arm in front of his face, shielding his eyes from the worst of the glare. His arm felt like it weighed a ton, and he fuzzily noted that he still wore his shirt from the night before.

Arm aching, Paton contemplated his situation, peeking around his forearm every now and then to check the position of the sun. After a few minutes of this, he simply allowed it to flop back to the mattress, shut his eyes once more, and rolled away from the light.

His head pounded in his skull, his heartbeat hammering out a throbbing beat with each pulse of blood. Paton let out a tired moan. Why did he feel this bad? His head hurt, his eyes were fuzzy, and he had the worst taste that he could ever remember in his mouth.

Realization hit like a sledgehammer, and his memories slowly trickled back with ice-cold clarity. There had been a party…a party with Julia and wine and champagne, and Julia, her eyes bright from the dancing and alcohol—and a competition. There was something about a competition…

Paton buried his head beneath his pillow, pulling the covers up above his head and willing the pain to go away. _Lyell_, Paton thought fuzzily. _This has something to do with Lyell_. And, all of a sudden, he remembered. Lyell and Amy had approached, had raised the question of which couple could retain the most champagne, and he, Paton, the _rational_ one, had accepted.

"Why," he muttered into his mattress, "did I ever think that would be a good idea?"

"Because you had already had a bit too much champagne to think it would be anything other than fun," replied an amused voice from the doorway.

Unearthing his head from the bed coverings, Paton opened bleary eyes to see a very indistinct Julia leaning against the doorframe. "Julia?" he asked. "But, you were there too."

"Yes," she replied, grinning, "but about halfway through your and Lyell's little competition, Amy and I decided that we had had enough and spent the rest of the time as spectators."

Paton allowed his head to flop back onto his pillow. "Serves me right," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut. Julia strode over to the bed and smoothed his mussed hair out of his face. "Well, look on the bright side," she said, a smile evident in her voice. "At least you won."

* * *

So, thoughts, opinions? Did you like this deviation from the norm? I write so many little drabbles (and, actually, I turn quite a few of them into longer chapters for this story) that sometimes it's nice to post them. For those interested, here are the songs that provided the "plot bunny" for the drabbles, in order of their arrangement in the chapter: Comfortably Numb, Pink Floyd; Revolution, The Beatles; I Want It All, Queen; Last Remaining Light, Audioslave; and Worst Hangover Ever, The Offspring.

Reviews and opinions are welcome (as always)!


	17. Thank You

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas for the plot.**

I know, I know—it's been ages since I've updated this. All I can do is beg for forgiveness and offer real life and other projects as an excuse. I've been writing, I just haven't been working on _this_. However, I felt the need to update my beloved _Illuminations_, and so here we are. Confrontations _and_ fluff overloads--I'm branching out! Thank you to all of my reviewers, new and old! I wouldn't be half as motivated to work on this without you guys!

As always, read, enjoy, and review!

* * *

"Auntie, are you sure you should do this?" Emma kept pace alongside Julia, looking worriedly up into her aunt's face. "They're not exactly the…sanest people around."

With the smallest shake of her head, Julia dismissed Emma's worries. "No," she affirmed, "this I have to do." Her feet beat out a brisk tempo against the sidewalk as she strode with purpose, determined to see this errand through. "It is far past time."

Emma hesitated, and then continued along with her aunt. "Then I'll go with you," she declared. "I'll not let you go by yourself to see those vile women."

Julia smiled, touched and worried all at once. "Thank you, Emma. I'll feel better for it, I'll admit."

The pair turned down the dark, winding street, instinctively drawing closer together as the cheerful sunlight was blocked out by old, looming buildings and gnarled, leafless trees. Julia barely repressed a shudder as they passed underneath the eves of a rotting apartment.

Slowly, they drew closer and closer to the depraved houses of the Yewbeam sisters. Julia was now faced with a quandary. "Which house is it?" she wondered aloud. She needn't have bothered; the door of each house opened to admit a Yewbeam sister—or two, as Grizelda followed Venetia—to the yard. They advanced on her like a pack of hyenas, identical looks of loathing fixed firmly on their faces.

"What," Lucretia spat, "are you doing here? You are not welcome."

Julia squared her shoulders. This was it. "Leave us alone," she said, looking imperiously at the sisters.

They exchanged incredulous glances. The barren yard began to echo with sinister, banshee-like laughter as first Venetia, and then her sisters, began to laugh. "Leave _you_ alone?" The words flowed out haltingly around her derisive laughter. "Are you not the one standing in _our _yard?"

"The woman thinks she can tell us what to do!" Eustacia cackled, throwing her head back.

"And she unendowed!" Lucretia added, looking down her nose at the sisters' visitor.

Mouth firm, Julia remained unmovable in the face of their mockery. Emma drew closer by way of support, her comforting proximity sparking Julia into action. "Yes," Julia reaffirmed. "Leave me alone. Leave Emma alone, leave my shop alone. Leave _Paton_ alone. We want nothing more to do with you miserable old harpies."

Grizelda stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "You dare to order us to ignore our brother's disgraceful actions? Yewbeams do not court the unendowed. Yewbeams do not betray Yewbeams. You dare to involve yourself even further in the matters of this family? You, the scarlet woman who has so craftily inserted herself into our brother's life? I think not!"

With each word, Julia's ire grew. Her face was set in an expressionless mask, but she crossed and uncrossed her arms with each accusation, overwhelmed by indignation and anger. "I _love_ your brother," she finally spat out, stepping forward so that she was face-to-face with Grizelda. Her chestnut hair whipped about her face, stirred by a sudden wind, the glow of her anger gifting her with the intimidating appearance of a fury-filled and vengeful goddess. "You would not understand it," she stated, glaring at the shorter Grizelda, "but that means something to me, and to him."

Her fists clenched, Julia stared down the other woman, her ethereal appearance aided by a helpful spring breeze and lone ray of sunlight. Impassive, she met Grizelda's challenging glare. "For the last time," Julia commanded, "leave us alone."

Finally, Grizelda could stand the confrontation no longer. She stepped back rapidly, bumping into Lucretia and stumbling. "Are you threatening me?" she asked, incredulously. "_You_? An unendowed, talentless, worthless, lowly woman who is not fit to even speak to me?"

Tensing, Julia narrowed her eyes, praying that the sisters could not sense her apprehension. "No," she said finally. "I'm not like you. I don't threaten people. And, like you said, what can I do? No, I just want you to leave the people I love alone."

"You have no business loving him," Venetia declared, stepping forward. "He is not meant for the likes of you, or for anybody. Paton is a Yewbeam."

Julia's eyes flashed. "Paton is free to do as he pleases," she said passionately, "and if that includes my loving him, then so be it. I did not ask for him to fall in love with me, but he did. I did not think that I would fall in love with him, but I did. You cannot change that, no matter what you do."

Emma's mouth hung open as she watched her aunt confront the four horrible harpies. She had never seen Auntie Julia so fierce, nor so impassioned—and it only served to heighten her admiration for the older woman.

So engrossed in the confrontation were all involved that they failed to notice the brick click of shod feet against the cobblestones that signaled the arrival of a third party. Julia swept her hair back from her face with one tremendous toss and rested her hands on her hips, sending the Yewbeam sisters a glare that could level a building. Emma sensed a change in the atmosphere and moved to stand directly behind her aunt, shoulders squared and face taut.

"Now," Julia said, her voice soft, "I will ask…no, _tell_ you once again. _Leave Paton alone_. He wants nothing to do with you, and you only cause him irritation and heartache when you attempt to off me, or some such nonsense. I'd rather spare him that." Her expression softened. "I _will_ spare him of that, even if it means you continue to harass _me._ At least leave him alone, though."

As one, the sisters let out a collective gasp and leapt backwards as a long shadow fell across the yard. "I don't think it should come to that, my dear." His voice was light and carefully disinterested, and he sauntered along the road to stand behind Julia. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and sent her a brilliant smile that said everything before turning a face devoid of any emotion to his sisters.

"You heard Julia," he said quietly. "Leave us alone. You have no power anymore."

They exchanged glances, their conversation rapid and tacit. Finally, Grizelda spat bitterly on the ground before them, glaring bitterly. "Fine. Have it your way." She spun on her heel, braid swinging behind her, and stumped off towards one of the rickety Number Thirteens. Lucretia, Venetia, and Eustacia followed without a backwards glance, ridding themselves of all familial ties in one step.

As the last door slammed closed, Paton turned to Julia, dark eyes turbulent. Emma watched their eyes meet, witnessed the heat exchanged in that single gaze, and promptly decided that she would be an unwanted third party. "I'm off to Olivia's," she said hurriedly, grinning widely and dashing away.

Neither of the adults even noticed her departure. Dropping his feigned casual air, Paton grasped Julia's shoulders, drawing her up against the lapels of his coat. Head resting atop hers, he buried a hand in her hair, caressing the shining waves and holding her close. "Julia, what were you thinking? That was neither the safest nor the smartest thing you could have done." Despite his accusatory tone, the hand combing through her hair was unrelentingly gentle.

Opening her mouth to protest, Julia was surprised when he held a finger up to her lips. "Let me continue," he said quietly, drawing back slightly. "It was not the safest thing for you to do, but it _was_ perhaps the most meaningful thing anyone has ever done for me. I—my sisters…well, you know how it is."

"I do." Her voice was gentle, her smile understanding, and she raised one hand to trace his brow line. "I know the trouble they have caused you, Paton. That's why I had to confront them. It needed to end."

Stepping once more towards her, Paton held her close. One arm curled about her neck, tracking her collarbone, while the other remained at her mouth. "Thank you." His eyes were warm coals, radiating heat and all of the emotion he had hidden from his sisters. "For everything." The finger that sat against her lips shifted, drawing slowly along her jaw line.

"Thank you for putting an end to my worry." Julia's eyelids fluttered closed as he grasped her cheek with one hand. "Thank you for not being chased away by my sisters." His other hand slid up to cup her chin. "Thank you for believing in me, for caring enough to want me to be happy."

He drew his head back just enough to capture her caramel gaze, drowning in the warmth and compassion it contained. Voice husky, he lowered his head back down to hers. "Thank you," he breathed, "for loving me."

* * *

I've needed some mush, so I decided to comply with my cravings and write some. As always, reviews are love.


	18. Liar

Yes, yes, I know it's been a long time, and I know this is a very short chapter to show for my absence, but I've been extremely busy with real life lately. Time management actually requires effort...who knew? Anyway, I hope you enjoy having a new little update. Think of this as a sort of filler while I work on a longer chapter (and yes, I actually am working on it).

As always, read, review, and enjoy.

* * *

He closed the door with a soft click, leaning heavily against the age-worn wood. Paton passed a hand breifly over his eyes, wincing at the sharp, stabbing pain that the simple movement caused. His side was on fire, burning with an almost unbearable pain. His fingers twitched, flitting up breifly to poke at the wound. Panting softly, Paton slunk into the kitchen, darting a furtive glance towards Julia's turned back as he maneuvered across the room. His hair was in disarray, dried sweat plastering it to his face, and his once-black shirt and pants were now covered by a thick layer of dirt and grime. He looked a mess, he knew, and the last thing he needed was for Julia to notice.

"You're back early," Julia commented without turning, her attention bent on the dough she was kneading. "You were expecting to return tomorrow, right?" She kept her eyes turned to her cooking, her arms and apron both dusted with a light layer of flower, her focus on her bread.

Knowing she could not see him, Paton curled his lips back in a silent grimace. "Something like that," he said, masking his discomfort. "Things didn't quite go according to plan, though." Unconsciously, his hand flitted towards his side, instinctively reaching for the long gash that lay diagonally across his waist.

"Oh?" Julia knew him well enough to know he was avoiding having to disclose certain information. Slowly, she turned away from the beginnings of her bread to face him, one eyebrow upturned. "How did they not?"

Inwardly, Paton cursed himself for his slip. He knew better than to divulge even the slightest hint that something was amiss—Julia could pick up on his weaknesses in seconds. "It's nothing, my dear." A jovial smile plastered across his face, he waved away her questions. "I'm back now, aren't I?" His subconcious rolled its imaginary eyes. _That_ wouldn't make her suspicious at all.

"Ye-es," Julia drew out the word, staring at Paton from beneath drawn brows and slowly drawing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "I don't feel like you're telling me the entire truth, though…" Her frown and her worry grew as she fully took in his disheveled appearance for the first time. "Paton.." she began, taking a step toward him.

Paton raised a hand to forestall her insinuations and then froze, face contracting in pain. "Nngh." He winced, curling one hand around his side, and leaned heavily against the wall. The charade was up.

Instantly, Julia was beside him, grasping his hand and attempting to pry it away from his body. "You liar." Her tone was chastising, but also held the slightest hint of 'I-told-you-so.' "You said you were fine."

Paton grimaced by way of reply, firmly and protectively stationing his free arm in front of the wound. "And I am," he insisted, scowling. "It's but a minor scrape." He turned further out of Julia's grasp, drawing his shirt tightly around the cut.

Julia threw her arms up into the air, exasperated. "I don't know about you, Paton, but where I come from any injury that causes that much pain is hardly _minor_." She pointed a finger up at him, glaring into his startled face. "Now, you're going to let me look at that injury if I have to make you."

Such logic could not be defeated, and Paton knew better than to try. Shoulders taut and back straight in the face of defeat, he slowly relaxed his defenses.

She nodded in satisfaction. "Much better. Now, let me take a look." Gently, she grasped the hem of his shirt, lifting it slightly to reveal his stomach and side. "Oh, Paton!" Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, the shirt fluttering back down to cover the marred skin. "How on earth did that happen?" The wound was large, a long, diagonal slash across his lower ribs. A once-white bandage, haphazardly wrapped around the middle of his torso, concealed the worst of it, but Julia could see the shape of the cut outlined in a bloody red line against the gauze. The skin around the bandage was an angry red, and glaringly obvious against Paton's natural pallor.

The bandages themselves were half a day old at least and caked with dried blood.

Overcoming her shock, Julia lifted the shirt once more, and Paton winced as she prodded the area around the cut with gentle fingers. "Just a hazard of the job, I'm afraid," he said, shrugging. The motion caused the bandage to rub against the gash, and he clenched his teeth, hissing in pain.

Instantly, gentle fingers were there, holding him still and pulling away the abrasive coverings. "These are going to have to come off," Julia said decisively. Her face was set into a determined mask, and her free hand held him tightly in place, preventing him from fleeing her ministrations.

"Ah," Paton frowned, backing away as far as her grasp allowed, "I don't think that's the best idea, my dear."

"Nonsense." Julia stepped closer and grasped his shoulder, firmly steering him towards the kitchen. "It will get infected if you leave it." Unbuttoning his shirt, she stripped it off his shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair, setting to work removing the ineffective bandages. Her nose wrinkled as she took in his torso. "When was the last time you had a bath, mister?" she teased, poking his dirt-browned chest.

Paton sighed heavily. "I have no idea," he lamented, all but falling into one of the kitchen chairs. He perched in the wooden seat at an awkward angle, stretching his long legs out beneath him so that the cut was out in the open.

"I thought as much," she replied, flitting over to the counter. She returned a minute later toting a first aid kit, a bowl of water and several crisp towels, and set them on the table beside him.

"Now," she said as she worked, delicately peeling back the sweat and blood-soaked coverings, "would you care to explain exactly _how _you got this giant slash. Paton, you promised nothing you were doing would be dangerous!"

He laughed humorlessly, doing his best not to flinch away from her gentle touch. "With relatives like mine, even the most menial task becomes dangerous."

Julia paused in her bandage removal, fingers resting lightly on his stomach. "Did one of _them_ cause this?" she asked, horrified. "What terrible people—but then, I guess we already knew that!" Her grip tightened unconsciously.

Plucking her hand from his stomach, Paton held it in both of his and looked up at her earnestly. "I'm fine, Julia," he insisted, doing his best to appear free of pain.

Julia rolled her eyes. Enough was enough sometimes. "And I'm a werewolf. Paton, you're bleeding all over my kitchen floor. That hardly constitutes 'fine.'"

The bandagers were off now, and tossed into an unceremonious heap on the floor. Exposed to Julia's critical gaze, the wound appeared even worse than before, red and raw and oozing.

"Right, then." Her voice took on a professional timber. "Disinfectant, new bandages…" She rummaged through the first aid kit. "Ah, here we are!" She pulled them out and set them aside. "But first, though, we have to clean off all this blood." She moistened one of the towels and drew it gently across the wound, clearing away rusty old blood as well as newer, liquid red. Paton bit his lip to avoid expressing his discomfort, but Julia noticed nevertheless. "I'm sorry," she said, continuing her task, "but it has to be done."

Slathering the antiseptic across the raw, red cut, Julia looked down at Paton, lips pursed. "You, mister, are confined here until you start to heal. " Sensing that he was about protest, she narrowed her eyes. "That is an order. Otherwise, you'll only go off and get hurt even _worse_, and maybe next time you won't be so lucky, and—" She broke off and sniffed, shaking her head furiously and swiping a hand across her eyes, leaving a powdery white streak all across her face. "Silly man," she said thickly, voice wavering.

Paton stood and grasped her shoulders, gingerly drawing her into his arms. "It's not as bad as it seems, my dear," he soothed, meeting her soft brown eyes with his sable gaze. "If I promise to be more careful in the future, will you forgive me?"

Julia shook her head, fumbling distractedly with the ties of her apron. "I was never mad or upset to begin with—just worried." She buried her face in his chest.

Paton hugged her close—then winced. As Julia had gone to return the embrace, her hand had grazed the still-raw cut, brushing across the tender skin. Julia drew back, a stern glint in her eye. "Upstairs and into bed with you," she commanded brusqueley, her emotional outburst disappearing as fast as it had arrived.

"I'm fine," he protested, nevertheless turning towards the stairs. "I feel as though I could run a marathon, go digging for buried treasure, dance a jig..." He grinned. "Why, I'll be right as rain in no time!"

Julia smiled at his retreating back, lips quirking into an amused smile. "Liar," she said, "but I still love you."

* * *

Haha, this is so random. I feel as though it's part of another, untold story...maybe I'll create a backstory for it in a later chapter. I'll get to work on the next update now; it's all planned out, and partially-written already, so I should have it up pretty soon.

Reviews are welcome and encouraged!


	19. Hands

**Disclaimer: After nineteen chapters, I really feel that you should already know I don't own anything.**

So, what have we learned? Don't believe me when I give you an estimated update time! If I say it will be soon, it will probably be later; if I say it will be later, odds are that I will turn around and update within the week. Sorry about the long delay between this chapter and the last. In my defense, though, I _have _been writing Paton-centric goodness.

As far as this chapter goes...well, I really enjoyed writing it, and hopefully you will enjoy reading it just as much!

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

* * *

A man's hands can tell the story of his life. Long and lean, thick-skinned and calloused—each characteristic lends itself to a chapter of his life that lies hidden, just waiting to be revealed. When reading a hand, each facet must be taken into account; one cannot note the texture of its skin without also observing its color. A callus on a hand with groomed nails is entirely different than a callus accompanying gnawed nails and rough cuticles.

A man's hands can give away everything he tries to hide about himself.

Julia has spent many an evening with Paton's hands clasped between hers, examining them with such careful scrutiny that it was all he can do not to blush at the attention.

Like the rest of him, his hands are long and lean. They speak of almost careless grace, a casual dexterity exhibited almost unknowingly. These are the fingers that so gently turn the pages of treasured books, the fingers that seek out and mark elusive bits of information on a page. These long, slender fingers grasp a sword just as easily as a pen, their artist's grace belying the strength that lies hidden within them.

These are the fingers that curl gently around her wrist when she is worried, drawing her hand into his comforting grasp, the fingers that trace patterns along her jaw as he—far too slowly—tilts her head towards his.

The backs of his hands are surprisingly smooth, and are just as pale as the rest of him. In the right light, they seem to glow, luminescent in the bright glow of the moon or a flickering candle. He has a scar running across the knuckles on each hand, a raised, ropy line that stands out jarringly against his otherwise-alabaster flesh.

Julia's questing fingers had stilled in their exploration when they first encountered the abrasions, her eyes widening and a silent question forming on her lips.

Reversing their position and now taking her hands in his, Paton had smiled at her. "It's nothing," he assured her, the distant look in his eyes denying his statement and informing her that it was, in fact, _something. _Noting her continued distress, Paton smoothed an errant strand of hair behind her ear, brushing the back of his hand along her neck. "Simply the remnant of an…accident long past."

She knew that was as much of an explanation as she would ever get; he would never tell her exactly how those scars came to be. Raising his hand to her lips she placed a series of feather-light kisses along the old wound, salving over the old pain.

His nails are an interesting cross between manicured and a disaster zone. While it is always quite evident that he puts time and effort into keeping them clean and groomed, it is equally obviously that he takes his worries and frustrations out on his fingernails.

If she ever wants to gauge Paton's level of stress, all Julia has to do is examine his nails. One glance can tell her if his mind is free of clutter (no rough edges, regular length), if his sisters are up to their nefarious tricks (jagged edges, shorter than normal), or if he is attempting to take on more than one man could handle (nearly no nails at all, nail beds raw and red).

There is always a struggle between her and Paton for his hands in his times of stress. Julia hates to see him destroy his nails, which, when left to their own devices, grow out very nicely for a man's. "No!" She smacks his hand away from his mouth, sternly admonishing him any time he raises his fingers to his teeth. "Leave your poor nails alone."

Gently drawing in hand into her grasp, she holds it hostage until he is forced to concede defeat. Of course, there are just as many times that Julia is not around to do this, so Paton's nails inevitably find themselves progressing through various stages of length and abuse. When she catches him with nails gnawed down to the point of being painful, she concedes defeat and decides he needs support more than criticism, taking great care to simply sit and hold him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him the security and reassurance that he needs.

His palms are a bit of a paradox, for they are thick with calluses that belie his academic nature. Whenever she runs her fingers along the hardened skin, Julia smiles to herself, immersed in the humorous thought that her world-wise historian doubles as a man's man and adventurer. She-and only she, for who else is permitted to hold his hand?-knows Paton is a man of hard work, just as he is a man of research.

She remembers the day before he was to move to the bookstore, that bright May day a week after their wedding. She was helping him load box after box of books into his car, all the while wondering where on earth they were going to fit in her home. Finding a place for books in a bookstore should not have been hard, but Paton possessed virtually his own library of tomes.

Staggering down the stairs, Paton deposited his current load by the door of Number 9, dropping the box with such an undignified thud that Julia knew it must contain paper or something else deemed insignificant. He stood for a moment in the doorway, looking this way and that, absorbing the sight of his home for the last ten years.

"It feels strange to be leaving," he remarked, pushing a hank of sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"Strange," Julia replied, giving him a teasing smile, "or exciting?"

Grinning hugely, he pulled her into his arms. "Exhilarating," he declared. He looked at her with such loving intensity that her breath caught in her chest.

Recovering slightly, Julia smiled a beaming smile and squeezed his hands. "Good." She watched as his gaze shifted suddenly, sliding from her to something over her shoulder. Curious, she turned and followed his line of sight to the old, ugly rocking chair abandoned by Grizelda when she had moved out once and for all.

Paton's lips thinned. "I always meant to get rid of that," he murmured. Looking contemplatively around the house, it slowly dawned on him that this would be his last opportunity to act on his sudden urge. His lips quirked into a smile. "Julia, my dear, how is your store of firewood?"

Laughing, Julia shook her head. "Full," she replied, "seeing how it is May."

Her words followed Paton as he strode to the chair and seized it in a determined grasp, hoisting it in the air and carrying it out the steps and down under the chestnut tree in the front yard. "Be that as it may," his voice floated through the open door, growing fainter as he dashed around back to seize an ax, "I intend to add to your—our—store nevertheless."

Leaning on the doorframe, Julia crossed her arms and watching attack the worn wood, an amused smile playing around her lips. His shoulders bunched under his shirt, muscles contracting admirably as he began hacking the chair into log-sized pieces.

She should say something, she knew, and stay this unnecessary action. She had more than enough firewood, and the temperature outside was rather warm for May. Still, she chose to remain silent, and enjoy the entertainment.

It could have been that she loathed the chair just as much as he did (and she did).

It could have been that she didn't want to disrupt the obvious joy that he received from demolishing this singular piece of furniture.

It could have also been the way his skin gleamed with a slight sweaty sheen in the late morning sun, the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders and back showed themselves as he set about his task.

Either way, in due course the chair was gone, demolished by a series of masterful strokes, and Paton was tossing the fragmented remains into a box. "That," he remarked, coming over to join her, "was very satisfying."

Taking his hand in hers, Julia ran her thumb along his ever-thickening line of calluses and gave him a coy smile, admiring how the slight sweat he had worked up made his shirt cling to his shoulders. She loved her bookish historian, but she also loved her sometimes-rugged ruffian. "Yes," she murmured, "it was."

She traces her fingers along his lifeline, feeling the smooth crease beneath her fingers. Julia doesn't claim to be an expert in palmistry, but even she knows that Paton has lived an interesting and unusual life, punctuated throughout with equal amounts of adventure, pain, and love.

His hands tell it all.

They tell the beginning, for they have never quite lost the smoothness and quickness of youth. Deft and dexterous, they twine around her fingers, pulling her into their teasing grasp. They grasp pen and sword, wield tool and tome with equal grace. Adroit and agile, they get into all sorts of mischief, from digging through the refrigerator, to undoing buttons and clasps.

They tell the middle, their scars a testament to the hard years that he has suffered, the agonies he has had to face. The few lines that mar his skin are carved deep into his flesh, bold statements of struggle and strife. His nails, chewed sometimes to the nub, define his worries and fears, speak of his stress and anxiety even as his mouth tells her nothing.

The end, of course, has yet to arrive, so there is little Paton's hands say about events yet to come. Even so, as Julia cradles his hand in hers, turning it this way and that and scrutinizing it with her teasing, observant gaze, she knows that one day his hands will bear the signs of that ending.

Catching her hands in his, Paton stills their movement and reverses the game. His long fingers dance across the skin of her wrist, tracing patterns visible only to him. The smooth skin of his palm slides across her knuckles, his calluses brushing her palm as he flips her hand over.

As they sit, hands intertwined, Julia knows she does not have to worry about the end. She takes Paton's fingers in hers once more, interlocking them in an immovable grasp.

Paton's hands tell the story of his life, she knows. They tell of his joys and sorrows, his hard work and struggles. Now, though, they also tell of something else-her. Looking down at their conjoined hands, Julia smiles. His hands are not just his hands. They do not just tell his story. Paton's hands are her hands as well, and the story that they now tell belongs to them both.


	20. Touch

**Disclaimer: Definitely not mine, but oh so fun to play with.**

So, I've had this story rated T since the beginning, more for complex emotions and angst than anything else. With this update, I'm proud to say I'm taking the more stereotypical T-rating route. Yes, yes, I know-_finally. _I would like to say, though, that T will be as far as I go; to me, anything beyond that is delving too deeply and ruining the mystique of what I feel should be implied and left to the reader's own imagination-sort of like eating dessert _before _dinner, if that makes sense.

Aaaaaanyway, here's a long-in-coming update that I hope you all enjoy. As always, read, enjoy, and review!

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The first knock on the solid wooden door was soft, just the lightest of taps, gentle enough so that Julia Ingledew, immersed as she was in her book, failed to hear it. The following knock was louder, more intense, the sharp rap of knuckles on wood conveying a sense of urgency, if such a thing were possible of a simple knock. Still Julia remained deaf, her attention concentrated on the thick book cradled in her hands. The third knock was the loudest of them all, echoing throughout the shop and the cozy, candlelit sitting room beyond with a wooden thud that even Julia could not ignore.

She came back to herself in a flash, her mind torn away from the feudalistic history from which it had been buried since long before the present midnight hour. A sudden burst of adrenaline surged through her with the fourth, booming knock, and she jumped to her feet, her book abandoned without second thought as she hastened to the door. She tried to peer out into the dark gloom beyond, past experiences guiding her caution, but could see nothing through the dark cloak of the early hour. There was nothing to it but to open the door.

One hand lightly grasping the tarnished brass knob, she undid her series of locks and swung the heavy slab of wood open.

The moment the door was open wide enough to emit the faintest sliver of the midnight sky, Paton was inside, gusting in with a cool burst of fall air, a tall, dark mass of black clothing and pale skin even whiter with cold.

Julia gasped slightly at seeing him, for he had been gone without word for over a month, and now stood tall and dark against the wooden backdrop of the door in the entrance of her shop, wild-eyed and coated with a thin layer of silvery dust and all but shaking with exhaustion.

"Paton!" The exclamation escaped her lips almost unknowingly, a breathy exhalation loaded with so much emotion that it was remarkable her words were even understandable. It had been nearly a month since she had seen him last—too long, far too long. So long, in fact, that had the hour been any other, had she not been caught up in the cruel dredges of solitude and heartsickness only hours before, she would have found much more energy to direct towards irritation at his extended abscence.

As it was, though, the mere sight of him set her heart aflutter, made her pulse race and her eyes glow. It had been so _long_ since she had touched him, since he had held her in his arms, since she had felt his skin on hers, his lips against her own.

And now, he stood before her, methodically shucking off layer after layer of external clothing—clearly he had been farther north, as the city was only just now in the throes of autumn. He did not say a single word in the brief span of time this took, his attention dedicated to the sole task of ridding himself of extraneous layers, and Julia took a moment to appreciate the man who stood before her.

Even on the brink of exhaustion, as he so obviously was, Paton held himself with a certain bearing, a lazy sort of alertness that told even the most unobservant eye that he was not a man to be trifled with. At times such as this, he was almost leonine, lean and lithe, all quiet power and grace, his dark hair falling into his face like a shaggy mane. Watching him shrug out of yet another sweater, Julia longed for him to break the silence, or at least give some acknowledgement of her presence. Finally he was left standing before her in just a simple black shirt and pair of slacks, dark eyes gleaming with an emotion that conveyed just how much he _had _noticed in his moments of silence. It was a look that startled her with its intensity even as it warmed her to the very core of her being, and she shivered in her thin blouse, crossing her arms.

"Paton," she said again, taking a step toward him, "where have you—" That was the closest she could come to voicing the first of many questions that bubbled to her lips, for then she was in his arms, his hands pressing her to his chest, his lips desperately seeking hers. All of her questions fled, chased away by much more delicious thoughts.

Paton sought her embrace like a thirsty man seeking water, a cool draught to wash away earlier agony. She could feel him trembling against her, knew some was exhaustion, even pain—the man was remarkably stubborn regarding injuries—but knew just as well that a lot of it was pure emotion. He had missed her just as much as she him, and whether it was the earliness of the hour or simple, unadulterated loneliness, he had temporarily shed any reservations about expressing it.

Paton radiated emotion, even when he believed himself to be at his most reserved. Oh, for those who didn't know him, who had not studied his face and bearing, Paton was as emotionally isolated as a human was possible of being. For her, though, she who had taken every opportunity to memorize his very being, he was an open book regardless of how he tried to present himself.

When he sat at desk reading, for example, she could simply glance in his direction once and determine his mood: a stiff back indicated intent focus on the material at hand, a slouch waning interest, a slight curl of the lip blatant disagreement, an intense gaze at the material all but screaming that his thoughts had wandered elsewhere.

And when he turned his attention on her… He managed to make her pulse race and her skin burn with even the most innocuous of looks, his dark eyes flowing seamlessly from gentle and teasing to smolderingly intense and back again, sending her heart jumping into her throat with even a fleeting glance.

The torment was delicious, the daily agony of living without his presence, without his touch, simply building up to the delightful avalanche of utter satisfaction when he finally returned. Julia was head-over-heels in love—so much that she couldn't even bring herself to care who knew it.

In his arms now, she was feather-light, floating high above whatever reality that she supposedly inhabited. If this was real, than life was heaven. She sighed lightly against his kiss, her lips parting slightly as she released tension she didn't even know she had been withholding.

He capitalized on her moment of weakened guard, drawing his tongue lightly across her lips before twining it with hers. He tasted of chocolate, and autumn, and long nights spent out in darkness, and everything deliciously forbidden and tantalizingly beyond reach. It was a taste she craved from the first moment it met her lips, a craving that never went away.

Of course, if one were to ask Paton, Julia was just as divine, a sweet, comforting delicacy dusted with honey and warm spice and just a hint of adventure. He was addicted, Julia the soothing aloe to the burn that seared him in her abscence.

Drawing back and panting slightly, Paton looked down into her eyes, molten honey in the dancing firelight. "I missed you," he murmured, bending to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. His grip on her did not loosen, his hands instead tightening around her waist and pulling her even more tightly to him as he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes so that his long dark lashes just tickled the pale skin of his cheek.

Julia's lips turned upward in a tender smile, and she extracted one hand from where it was wound around his neck to bring it up to his cheek, tracing a pattern across his jawbone. "I know," she murmured, her smile widening as he leaned into her caress, all but humming with pleasure. She continued ghost her hand along his face, tracing around his eyes, his nose, his mouth, ceasing her movement as he caught her roving hand with his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. "I missed you as well."

His eyes opened then, alight with a spark of mischief, and he captured her hand in his, carefully winding it back around his neck. "Did you now," he mused quietly, drawing his hand tantalizingly slow along her side, just the faintest of touches, until it joined its companion wrapped snugly around her waist.

"I did." The words came out as a heavy whisper, her breath stolen with his ministrations. She was barely able to voice the words of her reply before he had leaned in close to her once more, lips inches from her ear.

"Well," he murmured, warm breath ghosting over the curved shell of her ear and sending goosebumps rippling across her flesh, "I'll tell you a secret." He paused for a moment, lips just brushing her ear, then moved his attention downward, ghosting kisses along the smooth white length of her neck. He lingered her and there, lips moving gently against her satiny skin as he mapped a trail of kisses along her neck.

By this point Julia was putty in his arms, lost in the sensations that were running across every nerve and overloading every synapse in her body. "Hmmmm?" The sound was more of a sigh than a question. Her grip around his neck tightened as she pressed herself even closer to him, seeking as much contact as possible.

His lips were at the hollow of her neck now, and when his tongue darted out to taste her alabaster skin Julia thought she just might melt.

Paton smiled against her skin as he felt her shiver. "I missed you more."

With the look she sent him in reply, he was forced to reconsider.


	21. Costume

**Disclaimer: Paton and all associated fiction unfortunately still do not belong to me. It's never too early for a nice Christmas present, though, if anyone wants to know what to get for me...**

So, I couldn't allow Halloween to pass by unnoticed, could I? This is just a silly one-shot I started _ages _ago and dug out today to finish, partly on my own initiative and partly as a result of AustralianWallaby111's motivational message. I must admit, it's quite flattering to have people hound me to update/post new stories. Now, I'm making no promises, but for my readers who have been wanting something more risque, I _may _have another Halloween-themed bit popping up in the next day or two...it won't be M, because I'm saving that for a non-seasonal story, but it will be on the stronger end of T. So, keep your eyes out, and in the meantime, read and enjoy this delightful little blurb! Oh, and review! Reviews are lovely!

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There could be no doubt that the seasons had changed. Gone were the blisteringly hot days of late July and August, the mild, sun-filled afternoons of September. Now, the air had a tang to it, a distinct lack of heat and addition of something _else _that declared to the world that autumn had come in all of its glory. Even the full force of the sun could not provide quite enough heat to cause days to qualify as "warm".

Nights in particular bespoke of the season, the darkness laced with the delectable scent of burning leaves, crisp clarity, and that distinctly urban aroma that accompanies any city. The dark cobblestones were bathed in leaves of every color from the line of trees dispersed along the road, and even the hardiest of souls would have turned up his collar as a shield to the season's bite. A frigid gust of wind stirred the cool autumn air, turning up debris and sending a frenzy of leaves tumbling down the street. The leaves skittered along the pavement in fiery groups of red and yellow, catching on stray twigs and litter and glinting silver in the glow of the bright moon nestled high above in the shadowy cloak of night.

The wind rustled through trees and rooftops, its fervor sporadically swelling and diminishing at its whim. Shutters banged against windows, rapping out harsh beats against the dark glass. Festive fall wreaths—some of leaves and flowers, others more festively adorned with grinning skulls and spider webs—shook in the gale, wavering back and forth on their meager hangings and appearing likely to snap off in the shortest of instants. The night itself was dark despite the moonlight, shadows black as pitch creeping along the ground.

Paton strode along the lonely cobblestoned street with purpose, even footsteps echoing dully as his heels pounded out their measured pace. Every now and then he pinned down a wayward leaf, catching it as it cart wheeled through the air and crunching it beneath the heel of his shoe, but for the most part his passage through this part of town went silently and unnoticed.

In keeping with the wind, Paton kept his head down and buried in the scarf around his neck, angling the brim of his fedora against the biting gale. He had long since shoved his hands into the pockets of his long coat, seeking whatever warmth they could find. He shivered and expelled his breath in a warm whoosh, wryly observing the cloud that formed. The warmer months of August and September had long since gone, leaving a brisk October in their stead. Strands of his dark hair stuck up in every direction, propelled this way and that by the blustery weather.

Paton allowed the tempo of his feet to slow as he neared the bookshop, casting a longing glance at the darkened cathedral and thinking of how easy it would be for him to simply duck inside and disappear for the evening. The massive edifice loomed over the courtyard, casting all before it even further into shadow. Paton took a great step toward the building, then restrained himself, sighing and resolving himself to his present course of action.

Eyes closing briefly, he wondered for the fiftieth time what had possessed him to do this. He forced himself to turn and make his way to the bookshop—an endeavor that usually required the majority of his willpower to prevent rather than initiate—and approached the thick wooden door. The sign in the wide display case was turned to open, and the warm golden glow of candlelight was evident through the window in the door. Paton extended a hand to the knob, fingers poised to grasp the ancient brass, but paused, withdrawing his hand a few inches. Behind him, the cathedral loomed over the lane, its imposing presence felt even while out of sight, calling to him to come and hide, to put this evening out of his mind and seek serenity in its darkened interior.

Grimacing, Paton burned away his hesitation, grasped the frosty metal door knob, and twisted, pushing open the heavy wooden door. The bell set over the frame tinkled, cheerfully announcing his arrival. There could be no going back now.

Any hopes that his arrival might pass unnoticed—that he could just slip inside for a few minutes and leave, claiming he had done his duty—were immediately quashed. "Ah, Paton!" Julia swept over to him as he stepped through the door, beaming and radiant as always. "Glad to see you could make it." She grinned widely, the gleam in her eye telling him she knew _exactly _how close he had come into turning back. "Honestly, I doubted that you would make an appearance."

Despite his discomfort, Paton allowed himself a small smile. They knew each other far too well. "If honesty is the theme of the night, Julia, I have to say that I seriously considered avoiding the premises. Only for the sight your lovely self would I risk such a potentially embarrassing endeavor." He shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with the top button of his long black coat.

Julia scoffed. "Embarrassing? Hardly. The point of a costume party, Paton, is for everyone to come in costume. It's not like you will stick out."

"I know." He grinned down at her sheepishly. "And I'm normally all for festivities, but you invited so many people…and a _monster_ theme, Julia?" He closed his eyes for a moment, pained. "How cliché." Cliché, and leaving him with only one possible costume.

"Oh, shush. It's fun to dress up every now and then, and I know Emma and her friends are enjoying it. Amy and Maisie looked thrilled as well when they showed up with Charlie an hour ago." With a few carefully calculated steps, Julia was directly in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his long black duster. "Besides," she said slyly, trailing a finger up his chest to hook it under his top button, this look suits you. She undid the buttons on his coat one by one, slowly unveiling his evening attire. With each button she undid, she placed a light kiss on his cheek, each one progressively closer to his lips. Finally, only one button was left, and Paton, enjoying himself despite the imminent humiliation, captured her lips in his before she could free the last button.

Julia sighed into his mouth, her quest momentarily forgotten as Paton caressed her mouth with his, moving his lips against hers with a passion that should have been illegal. One white-gloved hand curled about her neck, toying with an errant chestnut curl that had slipped from her carefully-constructed bun, while the other grasped her waist, pulling her closer to him.

The need for oxygen finally overcame them both, and Paton drew back, panting lightly and looking at her through darkened, half-lidded eyes. Julia let out a small murmur of regret at the loss of contact, suddenly cold with Paton's retreat. Blinking and blushing slightly, she regained her sense of propriety and fixed her hair, then undid the final button of his duster with the flick of a finger. Deftly slipping his coat off of his shoulders, Julia deposited it on the coat rack.

Turning to survey him with a raised eyebrow, she smiled appreciatively. "I'm glad to see that you _did_ wear a costume, despite your threats to do otherwise."

Gloved hands raised in defense, Paton offered a half-shrug and a slight, embarrassed cough. "What can I say?" he asked. "I _do _enjoy dressing up every now and then."

She eyed him speculatively, nodding in satisfaction. "I approve," she said, straightening his cravat and running a hand along the red interior of the otherwise pitch-black cloak that fell from his shoulders. "Very nice costume, if not overdone. You're certainly one to talk about _clichés_."

He laughed, catching her hands in his. "You have me there, my dear. I decided that since I already fit most of the stereotypes, I may as well just complete the ensemble." Deciding to shift topics, he considered her appearance. "_You_ are looking very nice this evening, by the way." He stepped back and narrowed his eyes, critiquing her attire. "Black robes, long red nails, pointed hat—you, my dear, are the most beautiful witch that I've ever seen."

Julia's teeth flashed as she smiled. "Thank you, Paton. Although, I don't believe beauty and witches—or at least evil witches—are supposed to coincide."

"As if you could ever be evil, Julia."

She laughed outright and ushered him into the back room. "It's time for you to join the party, Paton."

This was the part Paton had been trying to avoid; as a rule, he tended to avoid parties, get-togethers, and pretty much any social gathering whatsoever on principle. Too many people packed into a room made him anxious, reminded him of too many light bulb encounters gone wrong. The more people there were, the more accidents were possible.

This was a party of friends and family though, so his unease was exponentially less than it typically was when he found himself forced into similar situations. As it stood, the majority of his reluctance to enter the room was derived from his self-consciousness in regards to the costume. It was with no small amount of trepidation that he allowed Julia to lead him to the door to the back room, her hand resting comfortingly over his. "Paton," she said, a slight tinge of amusement laced into her words, "it is only a costume party. You'll be fine."

He looked down at her walking beside him and was suddenly overcome by the urge to break the status quo, to violate his every instinct of self-preservation and anonymity that yelled in his ear to make the most unobtrusive, quiet entrance as possible. In a split second, Paton decided that since he was there, since he had made the effort to adorn himself in such a festive manner, he was going to make the most of the moment.

He had taken great pains to make his costume as accurate and intimidating as possible—more for Julia's reaction than accuracy, though a personal love of intricate historical details did contribute—and in that split second, he decided to play it up. Besides, it would make Charlie—and Julia's—night.

Just before Julia could pull him through to the back room and the party, Paton placed an arm on her shoulder, halting her mid-stride. "You go on ahead," he told her, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I have to prepare one final aspect of my costume, and then I will enter." As she hesitated, he rolled his eyes obnoxiously and pushed her toward the party. "I _promise_ I'm not running away."

Julia laughed, the sound a joyful peal that rang through the empty store. "I wouldn't believe it of you, love," she said, tapping his chin. She paused just before passing out of his line of sight and raised an eyebrow, looking back at him. "It had better be a good addition," she warned.

Paton's only reply was a raised eyebrow of his own.

Once Julia had disappeared into the party beyond, he dug around carefully in the pocket of his crisp black trousers, finally pulling out the two small fangs that had been such a pain in the neck for him to accrue. Placing the smallest amount of cosmetic glue on them, he sealed them to his canines, using a nearby glass bookcase as a surrogate mirror, baring his teeth in a gleaming, grimacing grin.

"Perfect." Even his speech was in character now, the words hissing out from between the fangs with the slightest Balkan accent. Certainly, the majority of his travels were for research purposes, but the cultural idiosyncrasies that he picked up along the way had proven useful on more than one account. He ran his hand through his dark hair and flexed his hands in their gloves, then raised them to straighten the high collar of his sable coat and to adjust the ruby brooch at his throat that held his cloak affixed over his jacket. The slightest flash of white could be seen between the glinting, blood-red jewel and the top button of his jacket in the form of a crisp, white shirt.

He taped his fingers together and placed them to his lips, mentally running over his ensemble. Everything seemed to be in place. With a glint in his dark eyes, he flung back the festive, gossamer sheet that covered the doorway and stepped into the party, head held high and teeth bared.

The cozy living room had been transformed, the couch, end tables, and numerous piles of books that usually bedecked the floor carefully pushed over to the wall and stacked in a corner. Small tables stood in front of Julia's own, personal bookshelves, covered with an assortment of delectable-looking food and drink that Paton had no doubt Julia had a hand in creating, their aroma calling to him even from across the room. The center of the room remained clear for people to mingle, and candles sat on every available surface, their molten wax sliding down to be carefully collected in a series of macabre, wrought-iron candlesticks. Faux spider web spread across the ceiling from one side of the room to the next, and was strung out across the room in a series of intricate patterns, twining about shelves and lamps with a subtle finesse that caused Paton to respect Julia's eye for décor even further than he already did.

Some of the candlelight came from a series of jack-o-lanterns that sat around the room, giving the room's occupants alternating fanged smiles and leering frowns and turning their respective corners slightly orange with their ghostly glow. Paton smiled, his fangs flashing in the light. Julia had truly gone all out; he could not have asked for a more perfect ambiance.

As far as guests were concerned, attendance was mostly restricted to their standard circle of acquaintances: Billy, Charlie, and his parents, the boys as truly convincing zombies and Lyell and Amy—very fittingly, Paton thought—a knight and his princess; Olivia and _her _parents, bedecked in true Vertigo fashion as Frankenstein's monster (Olivia) and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Mrs. Vertigo, it appeared, had won the role of Hyde); Fidelio, as Beethoven; Maisie, whom it appeared had chosen to be a chef; Emma, as a farmer; and an assorted rabble of other school and local friends and acquaintances.

The time Paton took to observe the room did not pass unnoticed by its other occupants, and more than one individual ceased their movement to stare in awe at the tall figure that stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Paton took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of the room fall upon him. This was it—time to play his part. He bared his teeth in a flashing, fanged smile and leveled the room with a dark stare. "Good evening," he said softly, the words floating through the room to each of its occupants, his affected accent lending his words a heady weight that they normally lacked. Everyone found themselves falling silent, drawn to his presence like flies to honey.

His smile broadened, seeing all of their eyes on him; it seemed he had captured their attention merely with his arrival. Speaking no further words, he gave a deep, flourishing bow, sweeping his cloak back behind him with a flare of red, then rose and crossed the room to the drink table and poured himself a glass of a ruby wine. He raised the glass in a silent toast to the room and placed the glass to his lips, slowly allowing the cool liquid to trickle down his throat. His mouth gleamed red in the candlelight, and he smiled once more as he lowered the glass, fangs glinting a brilliant white.

A loud, appreciative whoop cut through the silence that held the room in thrall as Charlie, grinning broadly through his zombie war paint, jogged over to peer up at his uncle in awe. "Uncle P," he declared, looking Paton up and down with a speculative eye, "that is the _coolest _costume you could ever have."

With Charlie's words, Paton's spell over the room broke, and one-by-one the other guests began to echo Charlie's sentiments, some even going so far as to offer applause. Paton accepted it all stoically, the faintest pink tinge to his deathly white pallor the only indication that he was feeling slightly outside his comfort zone. He inclined his head. "Thank you." Still in character, the words were laced with that impeccably accurate accent.

A bright laugh cut through the conversation that had begun to buzz throughout the room once more, and Julia strode over to Paton's side, her eyes alight with amusement. "Paton, that was absolutely perfect," she declared, grasping his hand in hers. She drew him over to the side and peered up in his face, drawing back his upper lip with one finger to examine his elongated canines. "I particularly like the fangs!"

He smiled and pressed a light kiss to the tip of her finger. "I'm glad," he said, giving her a mischievous smirk. "It wouldn't have been complete without them." He ran his tongue over their pointed tips. "You know, I rather like them," he mused. "Perhaps I shall just leave them in."

Julia quirked an eyebrow. "Forever, love?" She pondered the idea for a moment, not willing to admit that the idea of a fanged Paton was rather intriguing. "What if you bite your tongue?" she teased.

His eyes darkened and he drew her close, pressing his mouth to her neck. "I can think of other things to bite," he murmured, lips tickling her skin.

Julia inhaled sharply through her nose, fighting the inclination to all but fall into his embrace. "Paton," she managed to stammer, "we're in the middle of a party, for heaven's sake!" She felt him stiffen and move away, and noted with no small amount of amusement that his vampiric pallor had all but disappeared behind an embarrassed pink flush.

"Ahem," he coughed, passing a hand through his hair. "Right." He shook his head, regaining his bearings, slipping back into his affected role of aloof mysticism. "I believe I shall go investigate the food," he declared, turning toward the tables that sat across the room. He turned, eyes darkening for a brief moment once more. "However, about the fangs…"

Julia felt her heart flutter. "Yes?"

He curled his lips in a toothy smile. "Well, the answer lies with you—trick, or treat?"

Watching him stride away, regal and imposing in his gothic attire, Julia believed she had her answer.


	22. Visit

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, unfortunately will never be mine.**

I am on a roll, my friends! It certainly feels good to be back in the swing of things with my writing! I've had a burst of Paton-related inspiration, so it appears all of you are in luck for the next few weeks. I make no promises, but I may actually have a multi-chapter story in the works...we'll have to wait and see, but it is very likely that will appear in the coming weeks. On top of that, I have some lovely holiday stories/Illuminations chapters planned, so be on the lookout for those as well!

As for this one, I had actually started it a week or so ago, then received a review from Enoe wanting to have a behind-the scenes look at Paton and Julia's falling-out from the final book, and that told me exactly where I wanted to go with this. As always, read, enjoy, and please review!

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Paton lay as though one dead, eyes closed and lashes a black silhouette against his pale cheeks. Arms crossed across his stomach, he could have been a corpse but for the steady rise and fall of his chest, the deep, rhythmic sound of his steady breaths resonating throughout his small room. The recent days had been arduous and trying, one skirmish with the evil endowed after another as his research took him further and further behind enemy lines.

Each encounter was more confrontational—more dangerous, though he would be the last person to admit it—than the last, but at this current moment those on the side of the King found themselves in a temporary ceasefire. There was an unexplained lapse in the onslaught of attempted hypnotization, burnings, and assorted evils as Dr. Bloor and his contemporaries withdrew their forces—though for how long this respite would continue no one were certain.

So, for now, Paton slept, recovering the energy expended in keeping Charlie and his friends from the worst of danger and in his desperate search for the final piece of his historical puzzle, bolstering his mental and physical reserves in preparation for the evil-filled weeks he knew were yet to come.

And, they would be evil and trying—of that, he had no doubt. The final confrontation was looming on the horizon, approaching just as readily as the sun rose each morning. They, the endowed and their allies, had to be ready. Once the storm hit, there would be no cessation until one side triumphed over the other.

In his sleep, Paton heaved a heavy sigh and shifted slightly, the hands resting on his stomach clenching and unclenching with pent-up frustration. Normally a light sleeper, he was so overcome by his exhaustion that the muted thud of the downstairs door opening and closing, the light footfalls on the stairs, and the soft click of his own door opening and closing completely eluded his keen sense of hearing.

Typically, he would not have had to worry about such an intrusion, for not only did Paton always keep his door closed and securely locked, but there was also always a member of the Jones or Bone household lurking somewhere in Number 9. On this particular afternoon, however, Paton was all alone in an empty household, Grizelda having disappeared for the week to plot and Amy and Maisie having gone to the movies on a rare afternoon out.

It was this tidbit of information Charlie had let slip when he met Emma and Olivia at the bookstore earlier in the day when he arrived to plot adventures with the girls, and it was this fact that had brought Julia Ingledew to Number Nine on this particular afternoon.

She came only because she knew Paton had been asleep—that, too, was something Charlie had revealed, mentioning his uncle's overwhelming exhaustion almost in passing, as if it barely mattered that Paton staggered into the house at unknown hours of the morning, appearing and disappearing before anyone else in the house was aware of his presence.

Despite herself, Julia was worried. She had all but given up on their formal relationship—his absence from her life recently had made his feelings on the matter _more_ than apparent—but she could not help the fact that she was hopelessly and desperately in love with him.

She stood now in the doorway of his room, looking down at the sleeping man with a look of utter consternation plastered across her face. Leaning on the white doorframe, arms crossed across her chest, she stared down at Paton with an unreadable look in her honey-colored eyes. This was the closest she had been to the man in over a month, and the pain of seeing him now nearly equaled the agony that had been haunting her over their recent separation.

Of course he would play the noble protector, claiming that being in a relationship with him was too "dangerous" for her with the work he was currently undertaking, that his recent endeavors left him with so little identity of his own that it would be unfair of him to pursue their love any further.

She had seen the pain flash in his dark eyes as he told her this, known as soon as he spoke the words that they tore at his heart just as much as they ripped at hers, seizing each and every fiber and twisting until naught but frayed edges remained—yet, he had stood before her and stated them anyways.

"This…this can't be our reality right now, my dear," Paton said softly that day, grasping her arms just above her elbows, holding her so that there was distance between them despite their bodies' close proximities. The dark eyes that gazed earnestly into hers were blacker than night, clouded with the agonizing knowledge of what he was about to do and the inevitable pain that it would bring them both.

Knowing what he was doing, _why _he was doing it, didn't help—Julia hated his decision with all of her might, loathed it all the same as if she were naive, ignorant of his so-called noble intentions and hero complex.

"I'm a danger to us both," Paton continued, releasing one of her arms to pass a hand through his shaggy hair, "and my research is leading me down paths that you cannot follow. I can't say what or where, but it is sufficient that my current deeds would leave you in grave danger. I won't—_can't_—put you in such a vulnerable situation."

Julia's eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to proclaim her defiance, to declare that she would follow him no matter where his life took him. She loved him regardless of any transparent effort to "protect" her, and he _knew _it; to deny their love was unfair to them both.

Sensing her defiance, Paton shook his head, placing a hand on her lips before they could part, preventing her words from escaping and condemning htem both with their utterance. He knew if he allowed her to speak he would not be able to follow through with his intentions. If she told him she loved him once more, looked up at him with those honeyed brown eyes that swam with emotion, chestnut hair cascading about her face, lips—lips whose soft touch he longed to feel one last time—parted with confusion, then he would be lost. And, if he lost himself to her now, then _all _would be lost.

The nature of his research, the family histories and scandals and treacheries in to which he now delved, led him into shadow, placed him in confrontation with parties who would not hesitate to take any available angle to stop him in his tracks. He had to cut Julia free of him, release her from his sinking weight so as not to risk her drowning alongside him should all else fail. He would not put her in danger through association with him, could not bear to see her injured on his account.

"Julia." His voie was soft, solemn, so quite that she had to strain to hear his words. "I can't. _We _can't." His eyes were agonized, the very words he spoke tearing him apart from the inside out, ripping his heart apart and shredding it into tattered pieces.

The words he omitted hung between them, a dark cloud that refused to pass, his unspoken "I love you" lingering in the air long after its obvious absence.

Julia's face flashed through a series of emotions, running the gamut from pained resignation—just the briefest flicker, but enough to tell him that she _understood_—to agonized regret and then mulish refusal, finally settling on proud indifference and indignant, wounded pride.

"Fine, then," she said finally, drawing her elbow from his gentle grasp, crossing her arms in front of her chest and backing away from him. She worked hard to keep the pain from her voice, to disguise the agonized sadness that sliced through her core, to hide the longing that tugged at her heart as she watched him virtually rip out his heart and turn his back on the one thing in his life that he needed most, his single remaining thread of love and support.

Her mouth thinned to a firm, unforgiving line, her eyes narrowed to flashing, brown slits. Chin hig, facing him head on, she nodded toward the door. "Go on; leave." Only through sheer strength of will did she prevent her voice from cracking, did she keep the hot tears forming in her eyes from spilling down her cheeks.

This break had to be as clean as possible, else they would both be haunted by the specter of possibility. As it was, there were far too many memories between them, far too many shared emotions and kisses and "I love yous" for either to forget—and really, neither _wanted _to. He was stuck in his stubborn, adopted role of "righteous hero," and she was too proud to display her need, her dependence on his love and support.

Paton opened his mouth one final time as if to speak, then sealed it and nodded, spinning on his heel and walking out of her door and life in one fell swoop.

That had been a month ago; she had not seen him since.

Now, she stood before him once more, her face a mixed bundle of emotions as she watched his chest rise and fall with the heavy breaths of sleep, pale face smoothed of the worries that accompany consciousness. Torn between lingering anger—her pride could not bear the affront of his walking away, the fact that he could shut her out of his life and be seemingly unaffected—and loving empathy, she stood in Paton's doorframe and watched him sleep.

He appeared so exhausted, so vulnerable; the past month had clearly taken its toll.

Taking a silent breath, Julia crossed over the imaginary threshold she had created for herself, picking her way across the paper- and book-strewn room to stand at the head of Paton's bed. She reached out, traced the contours of his face in the air, her hand a scant inch from his pale skin, traveling the familiar path from his forehead to jaw but caressing naught but air.

She longed to actually touch him, to feel the smooth skin of his face beneath her hands. Trembling, her fingers inched closer, freezing mere centimeters from his cheek.

Biting her lip, she hesitated. To touch him now, to give in to such a basic desire for contact—would that be admitting defeat?

Paton stirred in his sleep, lips forming the words he would not allow himself to vocalize while awake, and Julia closed her eyes, all resistance seeping from her body and leaving her visibly deflated. She was lost to this man, held in his thrall the same as if they were physically bound. In a sense, of course, they were, their hearts conjoined by a chain that would never sever.

She closed the distance between them, trailing the lightest of touches along his face, tracing the path from forehead to chin, ghosting over his parted lips. Smoothing his straonds of pitch-black hair, she knelt on the floor beside the bed, reveling in even this miniscule form of contact.

It had been so long since they had been together, so long since she had seen him, spoken to him—too long.

The separation hurt, and her emotions bled anew at seeing him now, at his obvious fatigue and heartache. She marveled that he did not wake at her touch, for he had always been one of the lightest sleepers. The fact that he slumbered on now, unaware of her invasion of his refuge, only reiterated the toll the strain of the last month had taken on him.

An idea—crazy and delightful all at the same time—came to her then, and she pursed her lips, contemplating the sleeping man before her. It would be a risk, for he might wake and all would be lost, but to be in his arms once more for even the briefest of moments, to be secure in his embrace again—she couldn't resist.

Slipping out of her shoes, Julia slowly, carefully wormed her way into Paton's arms, occupying the scant space left vacant on the be. She rested her head on his chest, tucked her head beneath his chin, and closed her eyes, allowing her cheek to press flat against his chest and rise and fall with his steady, even breaths.

He murmured her name, then, the lightest rumble of sound slipping from his lips, and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to him in a way he had not done wince they last parted ways.

Julia smiled and snuggled into his neck, lips ticklin his skin as she sought further contact. Care was key here, slow movements and gentle touches paramount. He could _never _know that he had been there, _never _know that she had violated their separation.

In his hold, arms wrapped snugly about her, she felt safe. For the first time in over a month, Julia was _home._

Paton stirred once more, head tossing and hands sliding up her back to grasp her shoulders, pressing her more firmly into his chest.

Julia exhaled lightly, a noise of both alarm and regret; it was time for her to go, lest he awaken and discover her. Extricating herself room the bed, she stood and straightened her clothes smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt and blouse, all the while casting a look of longing regret toward her sleeping Paton.

Quickly, she stooped and pressed a kiss to his lips, feather-light and fleeting, then drew away and departed before her common sense could be overrun by emotion, before she could cast aside her pride in its entirety and dive back into his arms and join him in sleep.

Instead, her resolve firmed and she wafted out of the room, leaving Paton slumbering and unaware of the world, the only evidence of her brief visit a faint hint of sweet perfume lingering on the sheets and the whispered, "I love you," left floating in the air.


	23. Gift

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, never will be. By now, you should know this.**

So, I know it's been about a month since I last posted anything...you have my sincerest apologies. Prior to Thanksgiving, I had a random slough of exams, and these last two weeks I've been immersed in finals and the studying that goes with them. However, I'm two days shy of being completely and utterly _free _for a month, so it looks as if you guys are in luck! I have quite a few story/chapter ideas that I have been working on these last few weeks. I just haven't gotten around to posting them. So, be on the lookout!

Now, this is **important**, so even if you skip my random babbling at the beginning, please read this note. To those of you who have been insisting I write something a bit more on the mature side, I have finally conceded and will post a short, holiday-oriented oneshot. I'm mentioning it here for two reasons: one, it is a sort of continuation to this chapter, and two, I want it to be read, and people tend to not check the M-rated section much, so I figured this was the best way to advertise. If you read it, _please_ review; it's my first story of that nature, and I would really appreciate any and all feedback! It is not up yet-I am editing it/finishing it, and will have it up no later than Sunday! So, keep your eyes peeled!

Now, go on and read this little blurb, and as always, enjoy!

* * *

"…utterly _irritating_…" Julia's voice floated out of the kitchen from where she sat with Emma, the two of them tackling the gradually-dwindling pile of Christmas cards that had yet to be addressed. She said something else, but the words were lost amid the a clatter of cards and Emma's answering laugh.

From the words that Paton did manage to catch, he gathered that he was the unfortunate subject of their discussion. He sighed, climbing down off of the step ladder and depositing his load of books on the already-cluttered countertop. Adopting a properly long-suffering expression, he squared his shoulders and strolled nonchalantly into the kitchen, leaning his long frame against the marbled countertop and crossing his arms. "What have I done now?" he inquired, his voice overlaid with a thick layer of indignant self-righteousness.

Julia and Emma exchanged identical smirks. "What _haven't_ you done?" Julia asked in a singsong voice, sending him a teasing smile. Emma giggled and looked down at the card she held. Two months of having Paton living in the bookshop had been enough for her to finally overcome her distant awe of the man, but she had yet to be completely comfortable with teasing this iconic figure of strength and intelligence.

"She's mad because you won't tell her what you want for Christmas," she said, grinning and still looking at the table. "Because you already own _every _book a man could possibly need or want, and according to Auntie, you are 'a most impossible man to shop for'." So saying, she returned her attention to the cards, ears perked with interest to see in which direction the two adults would take her comment.

Paton sighed. So it was back to gifts. "Julia," he said patiently, with the long-suffering air of one who has faced the same argument too many times, "I've told you time and time again that I don't need_ anything_ for Christmas. I'm already the happiest man alive—we've defeated the evil endowed, the world is finally at harmony, and every day I have to pinch myself to know it hasn't all been a dream. Material objects, at this point, pale in comparison to reality."

Smiling wryly, Julia addressed the final envelope with a flourish and set it aside, casting the pen across the table and flexing her fingers. "I _know_," she said placatingly, but "I still want to get you _something." _

Emma shook her head and stood up, pushing her chair beneath the table. "Well, you both know what _I _want," she declared with a grin, thinking happily of the elaborate art set that was the sole item on her list this year, "so I will leave the two of you to discuss Mr. Paton's irritating lack of materialism."

At the 'Mr. Paton', Paton gave a slight smile. He had tried repeatedly since the wedding to shift Emma's form of address to something less formal than 'Mr. Yewbeam," insisting that since he was technically her uncle such formality was entirely unnecessary.

Watching them interact, Julia smiled as well. She adored the domestic moments that were cropping up with increasing frequency, for they reminded her again and again that she had a family. She had a beautiful niece who was all but a daughter, and a wonderful, handsome, clever husband to whom she still couldn't believe she was married.

Paton saw the nostalgic smile grace her face and felt a surge of affection for the woman who sat before him. He could lose himself forever her warm brown eyes, drowning in the compassion and heartfelt _goodness_ that smoldered in their depths. The sincerity of her soul was such that could never be extinguished, an unquenchable passion that drew him in and dominated him, leaving him powerless in its grasp.

Julia rose from her seat and went over to stand beside Paton, leaning on the counter beside him and looking up into his face trying to read his expression. "You're looking unusually contemplative," she said, raising a finger to trace a path across his brow. "What's on your mind?"

Paton smiled, his dark eyes brimming with an affection that superseded any other. He reached up and captured Julia's hand in his, twining his fingers through hers and lowering their conjoined digits to rest on the counter between them. With his other hand, he cupped her chin, tilting her face up toward his, losing himself in the depths of her brown eyes.

"Why, you are, of course, my dear." His voice was the lowest of rumbles, his tone sliding seamlessly from sentimental to something much less innocent, and he brought his head to her upturned face, ghosting his lips across hers before lowering his mouth to the alabaster skin of her neck.

Julia moaned and sagged slightly against the counter, her free hand curling around the edge to hold herself steady. It never failed to amaze her how quickly Paton could turn the tables on her, slipping from tender and sweet to suave and sultry, though she'd never admit that last to anyone but herself.

Feeling Julia's pulse quicken beneath his lips, Paton tightened his hold on her wrist and slowly began working his way up her neck, leaving a trail of kisses from collarbone to ear. He took his time, taking what seemed an eternity to Julia to travel the short length of skin.

Her hands rose to his shoulders of their own accord, drawing him as close as she could, seeking to hold him to her and never let him go. As his mouth reached her cheek, she let out a light, shuddering gasp, relishing the rush of sensation that swept through her as his tongue darted out to caress the edge of her mouth. She closed the scant distance that separated them and met his lips in a fiery kiss, molding her lips to his.

Finally Paton drew back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hair shaggy and mussed from where her hands had tangle themselves in it. "You, my dear," he murmured, resting a light finger on her mouth, "are irresistible."

Julia's lips, swollen from his attentions, curved into a sly smile. "Am I?" she all but purred, laughing to herself as his eyes darkened at her tone. They both knew that he would do anything and everything for her—and that she would do the same and more for him. She raised her hand to his forehead, smoothing away a hank of dark hair that hung in his eyes.

His eyes tracked the movement of her hand, her slim wrist on level with his gaze. "You know you are," he said, leaning into her caress and capturing her other wrist in between his long fingers, drawing her hand into his grasp and intertwining their hands.

She tapped his nose, then lowered her hand to rest on his chest, feeling the light thump of his heart beneath her palm. "I do," she confessed, pressing her hand against his heart and feeling it flutter. She tilted her head and looked up to meet his eyes, a crafty gleam shining in her eyes. "Now," she said, tracing a pattern on his chest, enunciating each word separately, "What. Do. You. Want. For. Christmas?"

Before she knew what was happening, Paton had both her hands in his and pressed against the counter beside her hips, his lean frame bent around her as he placed his mouth by her ear.

"I'll only say it once," he whispered, "so listen closely." His tongue flickered out to wet his lips, and his teeth flashed in a slow smile. "All I want for Christmas," he said slowly, so softly that her ears strained to hear his words even with him so close, "is you."

* * *

Happy holidays!


	24. Kiss

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

I know some of you are thinking, "Yay! An update!" while others are thinking, "Aww, only an update? Where's a chapter fic?". For the latter crew, I have good news. I actually _am_ working on one or two multi-chapter Paton-and-Julia-centric stories at the moment-as in, I have actual chapters written for one, and a few very fun ideas for another. I'm waiting to post a chapter of the first until I have a pretty solid stash of already-written material, simply so that I can provide you with fairly consistent updates; when _I'm _following a multi-chapter fic, nothing bothers me more than an author who fails to update for months at a time, and I really don't wish to fall into that trap myself. Anyway, keep your eyes open, because things will start appearing in the coming weeks =)

As for this little blurb...It came to me in the middle of the night in one of my fairly typical moments of insomnia, so I had to write it down. I kept poking away at it, and it turned into...this. As far as ratings go, I feel it is still within the T zone, but if it bothers anyone just let me know and I'll take it out of Illuminations and shuffle it into an M rating.

As always, read, enjoy, and please review!

* * *

It starts with a kiss.

Lips meet, the smooth, moist flesh sliding past its counterpart on another's face. The touch is chaste at first, just the lightest contact, merely the slightest, feather-light brush of his mouth across hers. He holds her in his arms so gently, as if she were the most fragile, the single-most breakable and precious item in the world.

Sometimes the contact between them is simply between lips and hands, fingers twined and looped and linked, interlocked and inseparable, the gentle pressure from their respective grips mirroring that of the contact between their mouths. These are the gentlest of touches, the lightest and simplest—and oftentimes, they are those which convey the most emotion, transfer the depth of his feelings to her.

Palm-to-palm marks another point of contact, one that he prefers on his more solemn, patient days. Hands flat, hers spread out flat against the wall behind her or resting chastely between them, his splayed out on top, calluses and life lines aligning with hers, an unyielding and light pressure that couples with the movement of his mouth on hers to instigate the first faint stirrings of desire.

Kisses, of course, intensify with duration, as that inevitable thrill rushes down the spine, as gentle pressure is met with a firm, insistent response, and unyielding enthusiasm on both parts ups the ante and drives the kiss into new territory.

More forceful now, his mouth moves across her pink lips, caressing them, massaging them even as he memorizes their surface, stores every bump and crevice in the mental map of her body and being that he keeps locked away in his mind—one of his greatest and most treasured internal possessions.

She responds in turn, of course, her mouth working against his, reciprocating his movements and mirroring the tilt of his head, matching the angle of his approach and meeting him caress for caress. It is a game meant for two, an exchange of love and desire.

Arms are involved by this point, his more often than not wrapped tightly about her waist or shoulders, drawing her ever closer and holding her to him as tightly as he may. At her shoulders, his hands curl around to her back, rest just on or below her shoulder blades, an insistent presence driving her ever into his chest, into _him_. At her waist, his arms drape about her lovingly, curling around hips and joining at the small of her back, propelling her forward into him. Hands pressed insistently into her skin, he guides her slim frame into his embrace, holds her securely there as he has his way with her mouth.

It is near this point that a tongue flickers out, tasting the world—for _she_ is his world, his one and only—passing lightly across skin already tingling from earlier ministrations. It seeks entry, quests for a closer, more intimate melding of mouths. Pliantly, her soft, full lips part, allow his tongue to slip inside, and their kiss is elevated to yet another level, another measure of intensity, of love and passion.

Paton takes his time as he explores the familiar surfaces of her mouth, following well-traveled routes and creating new paths alike, trailing across teeth and over gums, swiping gently across the inside of her mouth and sending her body into tingling, delightful spasms.

Then their tongues meet, and Julia and Paton are lost, aflame with sensation desire coursing through their bodies as thickly and readily as blood, pounding in their veins with each thud of their hearts.

She is pressed flat against him by this point their bodies connected at every possible point, separated only by clothing. The contact is self-driven, as his hands have migrated to her face, one large palm cupping her chin, thumb resting along the contours of her jaw, fingers curled up and around the opposite cheek as he holds her mouth to his. The other hand is nestled at the back of her head, buried in thick chestnut curls and making short work of any ties or restraints therein, setting the luscious waves free to tumble down around her neck and shoulders.

Julia's own hands are fastened around his neck, clinging to him for support just as much as to pull his mouth to hers, refusing to allow his head to retreat. Her heart pounds in her chest, a steady and fevered drum of blood through her veins, hammering out one rush of sensation after the next.

From there, from the dance of tongue with tongue, from the brush of what exposed skin each bears against the other, the stakes rise, growing with the sparks that pass between them.

Paton's hands slide down along Julia's sides to the hem of her blouse, slip up under the lip and slowly beginning to explore the smooth planes of her stomach, ghosting over her sides and abdomen and sending a shudder racing like lightning up along her spine. Rising in altitude, searching fingers brush the lower curve of her breast, move up to massage the supple mounds of flesh with questing hands.

The hands around his neck clench as she moans, the sound lost in his mouth as their kiss continues. She drives herself into his touch, back arching in abject pleasure, seeking to bring herself ever closer to his caresses.

Deft fingers dance around to her back, unhook her bra and slide the thin straps down beneath her shirt and along her arms; the shirt's closed sleeves are the only thing keeping the slip of fabric from falling forgotten to the floor. He kneads the freed flesh with adroit fingers, working the satiny surface much as a potter tends to his clay, the skin supple and smooth beneath his touch.

Awash with sensation, Julia allows her eyes to flutter closed, her vice-like grip shifting down around his shoulders, fastening herself to him to prevent suddenly-weak knees from buckling. She breaks their kiss now, turning swollen lips to the expanse of skin sitting invitingly before her, trailing slow, fervent kisses along his neck, darting her tongue out to taste the sting of salt on his sweat-dampened flesh.

Her progress is agonizingly slow, and Paton's ministrations cease as he is flooded with sensation, synapses working overtime as his nerves hasten to interpret the surge of sensation coursing through his body. His pulse thrums in his throat, its measured beats shifting erratically as her tongue dances lightly across his neck.

Paton's hands slip from beneath her shirt to begin their attack on the article of clothing itself, drawing it up above her head and casting it carelessly aside. As clothes begin to disappear layer by layer, exposing skin flushed and rippling with sensation, there is yet so much more to the pair than mindless passion. Theirs is an embrace of love, of partnership and desire and a kinship of spirits unparalleled by all others.

Julia was meant for Paton, just as Paton was meant for Julia. There can be no other way about it.

Her head tucks neatly beneath his chin when they embrace, his arms and chest mold perfectly around her slim torso, encompassing her body in his hold and keeping her nestled tightly against him. When it meets, their skin all but fuses, melding them into a single entity bonded by emotional as well as by physical means.

Never in her life would Julia have dared to dream that she would ever be so loved, that she would discover like a diamond in the rough this dark horse of a lover, her intellectual and emotional equal and knight in shining armor. Paton took her, a simple bookseller, and elevated her above all else upon a gilded pedestal, lavishing her simultaneously with respect, adoration, desire, and a love that overflowed the boundaries of his heart and expanded into all facets of their lives. Every moment spent in his company is precious to her, regardless of whether they are locked in an intense intellectual debate, caught up in a quiet moment of passion, or simply seated in comfortable silence engrossed in their respective books.

Likewise, Paton could never have known that such a treasure as Julia stood directly in his path, awaiting the day when their selves would inevitably meet, their lives intertwining and becoming inextricably combined.

Now that he has her, now that she is wholly and undeniably his, he is never letting her go. Happiness has graced his life so little, love played so minor a role, that he has vowed up and down that he will never forsake it—nor allow it to forsake him.

Returning to the present, he rests his arms on Julia's bare shoulders, turning that burning black gaze of his upon her face. One hand flits to trace her cheek, cup her chin, follow the curve of her neck down to her collarbone. His eyes never leave hers, black boring into brown, his focus only on her, on the single most important being in his life-his kindred spirit, and other half. Without speaking a word, he sweeps her into his arms and brings his mouth to bear on hers, dominating her lips and claiming her body and soul as his own.

It starts with a kiss, but it ends with so much more.

* * *

And that is that. Reviews are much appreciated!


	25. Wedding

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Did I finally update? Yes. Yes I did. Happy days are here again!

As always, read, enjoy, and please review!

* * *

The small church grew even smaller as more and more guests streamed through the ancient wooden doorframe, filling the sanctuary to and beyond its standard capacity. Every row of pews was filled to bursting, the overflow carrying into the aisle and extending out the door to the beautiful spring day beyond. Though small, the church was well-proportioned, a lofty ceiling suspended high above the heads of those in attendance and the pews angled inward toward a low altar arranged at the church's head.

Tall, arched windows—both clear and stained glass—ringed the walls and the upper arches of the ceiling, allowing the bright spring sunlight to pour into the building and bathe all in attendance with the golden glow of its iridescent rays. A warm breeze that bespoke of summer to come wafted through the open door, passing through the small lobby and into the sanctuary itself and carrying with it the heady scent of nature.

It was clear from the appreciative looks that graced the faces of the guests that the simple grace and beauty of the church and ceremony were to be well-received; neither the bride nor groom believed in over-the-top affairs, and so had settled for a simple exchange of vows in a peaceful setting removed from the bustle and commotion of the central city.

Gradually, the crowd began to settle, and the flow of incoming guests slowed to a trickle. People began to glance at their watches and turn in their seats, awaiting the arrival of the wedding party. The hum of voices and muted whispers rose as those in attendance got settled, and the commentary and gossip got well underway.

"Well, it's about _time _they got married," one woman was saying emphatically to her friend. "They've only been dancing around each other for forever." She bobbed her head up and down, her sprightly curls bouncing with the movement.

From where she sat at the front, Olivia shook her head regretfully, turning to her mother to remark, "It's a pity Mr. Yewbeam's finally off the market."

"Oh?" her mom grinned wickedly and raised an eyebrow. "Now, you know that's not really true, Liv…he hasn't been _on _the market since he first laid eyes on Julia." She laughed and teasingly poked her daughter in the side. "And besides, he's far too old for you anyway."

Olivia heaved a regretful sigh. "I know," she said, "but he has this _allure…_" She gave her mom a goofy grin that the older woman returned.

On the other side of the church, some of the less-pleasant gossips were getting into the fully wing of things. "Shame on her living with him for so long without being married," one remarked snidely to her neighbor. "By this point a wedding seems more like an afterthought than anything."

She was quickly subdued with a painful jab to the ribs by the unforgiving elbow of her companion. "Oh, shush," the other chastised. "Who's to say you wouldn't do the same? Besides, it's not as though they're particularly lascivious individuals…why, anyone with two eyes in their head can see that he's head over heels for her, and she for him."

Then Paton entered from a side door near the altar, and slowly the murmur of voices died away. It was nearly time.

Paton's deep sable tuxedo was a perfect match to the pitch black of the hair that hung just brushing his shoulders, and highlighted the pure white of his shirt and the pale cast of his skin. He stood tall and proud, eyes burning coals that smoldered with excitement, anticipation, and the realization of a long-awaited dream.

Slowly the back of the church filled with the rest of the small wedding party, and Amy and Lyell—the matron of honor and best man—made their stately way down the aisle, beaming with pride for their two friends. Behind them trailed Emma and Charlie, both teens bedecked in their finest clothes and grinning ear-to-ear. Charlie bore a small pillow on which rested the wedding rings, two simple bands of yellow gold wound intricately with a single stripe of white. Emma carried a basket of flowers, a beautiful mélange of cherry blossoms and hydrangea petals, which she tossed delicately along the aisle as she walked.

As they neared the altar, the pair shot a bright smile at Maisie and their friends who occupied the first two rows of pews. A delicious smirk spread across Emma's face as she passed Tancred, and in one fluid motion she upended the remainder of the flower petals on his head, keeping her eyes focused resolutely upon the altar where Paton and Charlie's parents waited.

Tancred let out a startled yelp that cut through the church, and glared at Emma, his scowl intensifying as she gave him a big wink. As she came to a halt at the foot of the altar, a gust of wind swept across the church and lifted the hem of her dress, drawing it up to and just beyond her knees and ruffling her blonde tresses.

Letting out a startled shriek, Emma dropped the basket with a dull thunk and clutched at her dress, attempting to combat the wind and hold the light fabric where it belonged. Charlie could not help the smile that spread across his face; glancing over at his uncle, he saw Paton don a look of bemused resignation and rock back on his heels, apparently aware that he could do nothing but allow the situation to see itself to a resolution.

A peal of thunder rippled through the small church, and Mr. Torsson half rose from his seat beside his wife and glared across the church at his son. Tancred blushed, and mumbled a barely-audible apology, letting the wind he had called abate.

Now all the wedding party was assembled but for Julia, and at the head of the altar Paton brimmed with a rush of anticipation, nerves buzzing and heart racing. Looking at the still-vacant place where the priest should have stood, Paton frowned deeply and surreptitiously pulled out his phone, glancing down to see a notice for a missed call and message on the display screen. Those close to the altar could see the indecision playing across his face as he fought with general propriety—who checks their phone during their own wedding?—and a driving desire to resolve this potential catastrophe as soon as possible. Eventually the latter option won out and Paton, looking resigned and giving a small apologetic smile to those watching, held the small device up to his ear.

The news he received was not to his liking, however, and his attempt at a smile rapidly turned downward into a worried frown. The voicemail was indeed from Father Forthill, apologizing profusely but delivering the unfortunate news that he was caught in a traffic jam that spanned the length of three blocks and halfway across town. Hanging up the phone, Paton did his best not to despair. The unassuming look he plastered across his face was hard-won, however, and those who knew him well could tell that something was clearly wrong.

Back by the doors to the sanctuary, the ushers waited to swing the wood wide open to emit Julia; they had been instructed to await Paton's signal and were now looking to the man for some sort of sign to progress with the ceremony. Behind the door, Julia paced back and forth in the lobby of the church, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, exchanging anxious glances with James Yewbeam. Something had clearly happened to slow the progression of the wedding.

When it was clear to all present in the sanctuary that no priest would be forthcoming, a dull murmur spread across the church as the guests began to wonder how the ceremony would continue. Seeing that no one had an immediate solution, Alice Angel jumped up from her seat midway along the aisle and hastened to the front of the church, standing on tiptoes to whisper into Paton's ear. From the way his eyes lit up and the broad smile spreading across its face, it was obvious she had devised a viable resolution.

With a radiant smile befitting her moniker, the white witch took her place at the head of the altar, her smile widening as Paton finally nodded to the ushers waiting in the back.

The doors leading from the lobby to the sanctuary opened for the final time to emit the radiant bride. Julia entered on the arm of James Yewbeam, the old man serving as her proxy father in the absence of her own, deceased parents. She was a vision in white, her slim hands wrapped around the arm of the genial gentleman beside her. The dress itself was a lovely, humble specimen, with slim straps and a simple sweetheart neckline that accentuated her figure, highlighting her curves and slim waste. A shade off of pure white, the color drew out the rosiness of her sin and made her a radiant sight to behold. She made her way majestically down the aisle, the modest train of her gown trailing behind her and brushing across the carpet in a whisper of silk.

She wore her hair in an elaborate bun, fine brown tendrils cascading down around her face to frame it in waves of chestnut. She bore a look of utmost bliss and pride, and her eyes never left Paton's as she made her way to the head of the church to stand by his side.

With tears in his eyes, James surrendered Julia to Paton, a watery, proud smile dominating his face as he passed of his daughter-in-law-to-be to his youngest child.

Paton and Julia now stood side-by-side, bearing identical looks of pride and an eagerness to proceed.

Alice Angel spread her arms wise and turned to address all present with a radiant smile. "Dearly beloved," she began, "we are gathered here today to join these two good people in the joys of holy matrimony." Paton turned to Julia and met her eyes in a searing gaze, his sable eyes blazing with love and compassion, baring his soul to her. Julia responded in turn, her honey-brown eyes liquid gold as they overflowed with emotion. Alice continued the traditional spiel, her projection of the timeless words completely unheeded by the very two people to which they pertained. Julia and Paton were lost in their own moment, and remained oblivious to all around them.

A ringing silence suddenly jerked them out of their moment, and they realized that Alice had fallen silent and was looking at them with an amused smile dancing around her lips. It was time.

Turning, Paton grasped the two rings that rested on the pillow in Charlie's hands, passing his to Julia and keeping hers clasped between his long, lean fingers. Turning to her, he took both of her hands in his larger ones, fingers resting lightly on the pulse point of her wrists. "Julia," he began, "my dear Julia. You have held me enraptured ever since our first meeting, and I have long dreamed of this moment, never daring to believe that it might finally arrive. You are a gem, the shining point in my life, and I would like nothing more than to never make you my life's companion." He smiled down at her, teeth brilliantly white, hair and eyes black as pitch, and lifted one hand to cup her chin. "I love you so much, my dear, and I hope that you will do me the honor of being my wife."

Julia answered his smile with one as equally brilliant, her person emitting a radiance that all present gloried to behold. She mirrored his gesture, raising the hand not holding his ring to his cheek and tracing a gentle line down to his chin. Despite the simplicity of the gesture, the guests blushed and looked away, the intimacy and raw emotion exuded by the pair making them feel like oafish, insensitive interlopers.

"Paton," Julia said, "You have been the light of my life these past few years, both literally and figuratively, and I cannot imagine a future in which you have no part. You have done something I never imagined anyone could do—you have made me fall completely and wholly in love, to the point where I desire nothing more than to be by your side for the rest of our lives. You are an enigma, Paton Yewbeam, and the kindest, most intelligent, and most genuine man I have ever met, and I would be proud to be your wife."

Alice's eyes sparkled as she addressed the couple. "Paton," she said, "do you take Julia to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part?"

Paton nodded solemnly and slid the ring onto Julia's finger. "I do," he said.

"And do you, Julia, take Paton to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish till death do you part?""

Julia beamed and slid Paton's ring onto his finger. "I do."

Alice laughed with delight, a bright, cheerful peal that had all the guests smiling as well. "Well then," she said delightedly, "if no one has any objections—"

"We object!" Paton's four sisters rose from their inconspicuous seats in the middle of the church, standing tall and defiant in the face of the couple and flabbergasted audience. They stood in a row, black hair to white, Venetia to Lucretia, all wearing identical looks of loathing and spite as they eyed their youngest sibling and his bride to be. "Paton is not in his right mind," squawked Eustacia, pointing an irate finger at her rapidly-angering brother. "This woman is an interloper, an outsider seeking to worm her way into our most noble and esteemed family."

"She all but stalked him," Grizelda snarled, picking up the thread of insults and glaring daggers across the sanctuary, "coming by the house every week like some common gold-digging tramp, promoting his insubordinance and outright betrayal of our family."

"She's not even endowed," Venetia accused, glowering at the pair. "She would seek to pervert the Yewbeam name, introduce a strand of normalcy into our otherwise-proud heritage."

Julia's mouth opened and closed in soundless indignation, and Paton drew her close, glaring at his four sisters. They quailed before his obvious wrath, and those guests at the head of the church shrank back, intimidated by the raw fury sparking from his eyes. "She is perfect as she is," he spat, his gentle hold on Julia belying the ire coursing through his voice and veins, "and you would do well to respect that and my decision. You have no part in my life—in our lives—and no say in what we do." His eyes narrowed to deadly black slits. "I'm only going to say this once. Get. Out."

They laughed.

"Like we take orders from you," Grizelda sneered.

As she spoke, however, dark clouds grew over the previously-bright windows, gathering in the eaves and rafters of the tall chamber, and a shadow spread across the room. The burgeoning darkness pulled the smile from Grizelda's lips and cut off her words, and she and her sisters gazed with widening eyes as the blackness engulfed all present. Red eyes appeared along the upper rafters, flickering in and out of view as whatever creatures they belonged to blinked.

Without warning, thousands upon thousands of bats descended upon the hapless quartet, swooping down on the sisters with a great, keening screech. They shrieked in turn and swatted desperately at the mass of furred bodies, trying to beat them off and failing miserably as their hands passed straight through the descending horde. Finally they conceded defeat and turned tail, fleeing the church with their hands raised protectively above their heads and their heads ducked low to avoid the mass of mammals surging above them.

As the door closed with a resolute 'click', the rest of the guests watched in trepidation as the body of bats swung about and faced the filled room. Gradually, though, to the bafflement of all present, the animals simply faded away like the frothing clouds above, diminishing into nothing. The church sat in utter, unbroken silence, watching as the dark melee drew in upon itself and vanished, freeing the windows so that the sun poured in once more.

"Oops." That simple, single word, uttered though it was in a soft and deceptively innocent tone, cut through the silence that suffused the sanctuary, and multiple heads turned to stare at Olivia, who sat staring at nothing in particular wearing a look of utmost satisfaction.

Paton and Julia glanced at one another, then at the girl sitting in the front row, and burst out laughing. With that, the tension that had gripped the wedding attendees broke with a nearly audible snap.

Alice looked over at Olivia and raised an amused eyebrow. "Oops?" she mouthed, delight tugging at her lips. Olivia merely shrugged in reply, failing miserably to mask the mischievous look in her eyes. Alice shook her head, then turned to the couple before her. "Now, where were we?" she mused, smiling at Paton and Julia. "Ah, yes…If no one has any objections—" she paused her for a moment, while Olivia glared accusingly across the gathered crowd and everyone held their breath "—then I now pronounce you man and wife." She enveloped them both in a hug and stepped back. "Paton, you may kiss your bride."

And he did.


	26. Accusation

So. I could apologize. I could kneel down before you, at your mercy, and beg for forgiveness. I could provide an assortment of excuses ranging from a tiring summer job to overcoming some personal hurdles as reasons for my two-month hiatus. I could say that I know it seems like I dropped off the face of the planet for a while there, and—well, you get the picture.

Basically, I'm sorry.

I hate when authors disappear. It annoys me to no end, and leaves me hanging and anxious to read more. So, what do I do? I go and disappear. Ugh. I really _am _sorry, and hopefully this chapter is the beginning of my return to relatively-regular additions to the fandom again. I'd like to give a huge shout-out to AustralianWallaby111, whose monthly hounding of me finally prodded my butt into gear. I know this chapter is short, but hey—it's an update!

As always, read, review, and above all, _enjoy._

* * *

"Get out."

"What?"

Julia squared her shoulders against the intruder to her sanctuary. "You heard me," she said coolly, eyes hard beneath drawn brows. "Leave. You are not welcome."

Black eyes widened in shock, and Paton took a physical step backwards at the open animosity in her voice, his back pressing against the heavy wooden door he had just closed. "My dear," he began, his gaze concerned.

A sardonic snort escaped her before she could master herself. "My dear?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm. "My dear? Do you think you still have the right to call me that after the events of the past month?"

Dark brows drew together in concern. "The events of the past month?" Paton asked, the worry in his voice growing in intensity. "And what are those?"

"Exactly." She sniffed and crossed her arms, leaning back against the sales counter before which she stood. "What are they, Paton? You tell me."

The tall man stood helplessly at the forefront of the shop, held from even descending the two steps into the shop outright by the ferocity of her gaze. It held him pinned in place, anchored to the floor and set under such scrutiny that he almost staggered under its palpable weight.

Her question left him dumbfounded, as he realized that, other than the purported not-burglary Emma had mentioned, he could not account for anything regarding Julia or her little bookshop. "I—I don't know," he said, his voice low and solemn. "Emma said you had been burgled, or at least harassed, the other day, though, and I had to make certain that you were alright, that you were safe and unharmed."

As he spoke, he saw her face harden into a resolute mask, and realized even as the words left his lips that they were the worst thing he possibly could have said.

"That's right," she said, her musically-expressive voice laced with pain, regret, and irritated, accusatory bitterness. "You don't know. How could you, when you haven't been here? How could you, when you haven't answered my calls, haven't checked to see if I _had _called? How could you possibly be current on the events of my life, when you haven't cared to be here yourself?"

A month's worth of bitterness and frustration filled her face and words, cascading from her lips in an unstoppable flow once she uncapped the initial onslaught. She had spent day after day, week after week, worried for him and his safety, terrified that something had happened to him on his extended stays abroad.

How could she know that he had been back home once or twice, that he was safe and sound and accounted for on more than one long night that she had spent alone, hands clutching the cell phone that oftentimes was her only link to him?

"I—" His mouth opened and then closed again as words failed him. He could not defend himself, could not justify his absence in a way she would understand, in a manner that he could validate. "I've been working on my research, Julia," he finally said, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "This angle I've been pursuing—it could change _lives_, my dear. People's very existences could be greatly affected by this discovery I am nearing."

She flinched. "_My _existence has been greatly affected by this discovery you're pursuing, Paton," she shot out in reply. "I've spent every night for the past forty days waiting to hear from you, to have even some sign that you still acknowledged my existence. I have called you, left you messages, asked Charlie about you…but what have I heard from you directly? Nothing. Not a single word."

He stepped heavily down into the shop and made as if to cross the room to her, but a sharp glare from Julia halted him in his tracks. "Julia," he said helplessly. "You know I love you. You know I would do anything for you, that I will always, _always_ be here for you."

"But you weren't, Paton," she said, her voice quiet and her eyes tormented. "You weren't here when I needed you. You weren't here when those men broke in and trashed the shop, you weren't here when I was exhausted and needing comfort; you weren't here when I just needed _you_."

Paton looked at her aghast. "My dear," he said, the words sliding limply over numb lips, "Julia, I can't begin to apologize. I had no idea how—"

She held up a hand. "Stop there. That's exactly it. You had no idea. You are an entirely selfish man, Paton Yewbeam. You spend all of your time with your research, working for the betterment of others but still buried and isolated from the world that needs you. Has it ever occurred to you that even as you're off pursuing some lead or another time continues without you? Has it ever _once _occurred to you that times have changed, that you're not some social hermit like you used to be? You have a responsibility to Charlie and your family, a responsibility to _me. _There are people in this world who love and care about you, and in continuing to cut yourself off from them you do them great disservice."

Paton had never felt so defeated. He stood over six-and-a-half feet tall, yet Julia's words made him feel no greater than an ant. He was scum in her eyes now, he saw, little more than a bump in the road of her life—and he had brought it upon himself. "You're right," he said hoarsely. "You are more than right. I don't deserve you, I don't deserve Charlie or Lyell or anyone. I…" He hung his head and looked helplessly at the floor.

He looked so defeated in that moment, shrunken in upon himself, his sharp features dulled by the pain that wracked his psyche. In his distraction, he missed Julia uncrossing her arms and stepping across the floor, realizing only when she stood a mere six inches from him that she had even moved at all.

"Paton," she said gently, looking up in his defeated eyes, "I still love you. I will always love you, and no amount of irresponsible negligence on your part will ever change that. You need to understand, though, that life does go on even when you are not here. You have a role to play beyond that which you have taken on, and if you don't want to accept that than you can't be what I need you to be."

He looked at her, took in the beauty of her pale face, framed as it was by cascading chestnut locks and set with a firm resolution. Her honeyed eyes looked at him, strong in their gaze and purpose, swimming with love for him but also with resolve.

"I understand." He turned to leaved and paused, staring intently at her. "I will always love you, Julia," he said fiercely. "Always. Don't ever believe otherwise. I will always do my best to be here for you, to protect you and to be your rock when you need something solid." The words that he next spoke killed him as he uttered them, reached into his heart and tore it to shreds. "But I know that's not what you want right now; as long as the evil descendants of the Red King reign, you know that I will always be torn in two. I will always have to be involved in a greater fight. I can try to make peace between my responsibilities—and if I could I would deem you my only one—but you and I both know that wouldn't succeed. "

Julia's irritation had all but faded by this point, eclipsed by relief that he understood, that he accepted that she was an independent being who could not be set aside until time was convenient for him, that they could not be _anything _until Paton reconciled the warring portions of his life.

"I love you too, Paton," she said softly, one slim hand crossing the distance between them to caress his cheek. "But for now, go. Go and address the part of your life that I can never be a part of. Make your peace with it—and don't come back until you do. We cannot have what I want—what _you _want—until you can be what I need you to be."

He blinked briefly, shuttering away the pain and regret and longing that swept through him at her words. One large hand reached up to briefly cover hers, then he broke the contact and turned away, sweeping through the door in a flash of black fabric.

As the door swung closed behind him, Julia exhaled heavily and finally allowed the tears to fall.

He was gone, and she could only hope that one day fate would bring him back to her.


	27. Friends

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

****Haha, yes-I AM alive! And proving it within a month of my last post, thank you very much. I'm all moved in and settled for another year of college, and my productive juices are definitely flowing. Be prepared, my friends. Be very prepared.

This is just a nice little blurb from early on in Paton and Julia's relationship, set before their first real date and therefore before Julia knows anything about Paton's endowment. As a little aside, if any of you have a scene or topic you would like me to address in this story, let me know via review. I'm not saying I'll cover every single one, but if an idea appeals to me I'll definitely run with it!

As always, read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

"I'd forgotten how this felt," Paton confessed, looking down at his hands rather than meet the honeyed eyes of the rather stunning woman seated across from him.

Her brows drew together. "How what felt?" she replied, tone quizzical. They had done nothing but meet for coffee in a local bistro, sitting out below the superfluous mini-umbrella amid the bright rays of the late morning sun. Julia could find nothing out of the ordinary in the situation, but clearly the dark haired man opposite her thought otherwise.

She wasn't yet certain what to make of Paton Yewbeam. She knew he was the errant uncle of young Charlie Bone, that his height and nearly vampiric coloring and an undetectable something _else _set him far and away from most of society.

He was an absolute enigma—and as the long shelf of mystery novels could attest, Julia Ingledew was not one to resist a puzzle.

Her lips quirked in the makings of a minuscule smile. It wasn't as though he were hard on the eyes, either—not that she would _ever _confess to such a notion. His skin was pale, yes, but nevertheless had a healthy glow that bespoke of time spent outdoors and active and it covered a strong, narrow jaw and sharp cheekbones in an altogether pleasing manner. His hair was clean-cut but shaggy, nearly brushing his shoulders in back, a black as dark as pitch and feather soft to her questing eyes.

A part of her (the bold, daring, _wanton _part, she thought fervently, frantically burying the notion) wanted nothing more than to comb it back from his face, drawing her fingers through the silky strands.

His frame was narrow, clothes fitted well enough to reveal the lean muscle of one who has taken the time to hone his body—perhaps as a runner, as he was far too tall to be any sort of acrobat.

Julia found even the man's height to be intriguing. At five-ten, she considered herself among the taller class of women, but Paton Yewbeam made her feel little better than a dwarf. Six-six, he towered above anyone and everyone nearby—and did so without impose his presence upon anyone.

It had crossed Julia's mind more than once that she would fit _just so _in his grasp, head tucked beneath his chin— she banished the thought with an irritated flick of her head. No! She barely even _knew _the man, yet here she was mentally dissembling every part of him—her cheeks flushed as her mind wandered. Best not to go down that route, either.

Realizing that it had been far too long a gap in their conversation, she wrenched her mind back to the present and looked across their table to her companion.

Paton, for his part, had been more than content to simply sit and admire the elegant woman seated opposite as her mind wandered off on whatever path it was that it had so obviously stumbled upon.

He had never met a fairer individual, in either mind or body. Her intellect was comparable to his (all ego aside, his mind was incredibly well-honed), her interests acutely similar to those he himself pursued, and she was also the most stunning creature he had ever beheld.

Chestnut hair cascaded down to frame a flawless, heart-shaped face which housed the most expressive pair of honeyed brown eyes he had ever seen. Every time she spoke his eyes were drawn to her lush pink lips, his mind unintentionally dwelling on the curious thought of how she would react were he to meet them with his own.

He watched as she returned to reality from her musings, a certain sense of awareness snapping back into her eyes as her mind realigned with the present. He noted the slight panic in her expression with no small amount of amusement, and wondered where it was her mind had taken her. He also hoped her mental meanderings had adequately distracted her from their earlier conversation.

He had been dangerously close to opening up, to exposing a part of himself that rarely ever saw the light of day. Luck eluded him, however, for Julia simply repeated her question, effortlessly sliding back into their conversation as if it had never broken flow.

"What is it you'd forgotten?" she queried, propping her elbows on the table and leaning forward to rest her chin on the back of her conjoined hands.

Paton squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her gaze. "This," he finally said, waving a general hand to encompass the entirety of their situation. "Being out in society, meeting with someone else in the daytime, talking over coffee.." He blushed and looked down at the table, studiously avoiding her eyes; if he were going down, might as well say it all. . "Having a friend," he concluded softly.

For the first time in a very long time, Julia did not know what to say. Here was this man—this intelligent, tall, imposing, _attractive_ man—confessing to her that he barely had any friends, that he did not socialize or present himself at public situations. She had known he was relatively isolated, holding himself aloof from society, but to hear him confess to near hermitdom was almost saddening. Such a wonderful individual should not see the need to closet himself away.

Her face must have registered a strange mix of emotions, for Paton immediately flushed and looked anywhere but her, fidgeting madly with the cloth napkin he clutched in his long fingers. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "I should not have presumed—"

Julia shocked them both by reaching a hand out to still his restless fidgeting, her fingers curling gently around his and stopping them in their path. "No," she said, a small smile on her lips, "it's alright. "

At the contact, Paton went rigid, his spine stiff and straight, his frame radiating as if he had just been struck by a bolt of lightning. She was touching him, had willingly initiated contact—and after he had all but confessed to being a self-designated hermit, too.

Sensing his unease, Julia left her fingers where they lay, smiling reassuringly in his direction but otherwise remaining absolutely still. She sensed that contact for him was a rather large issue, and after taking the plunge she was not willing to risk shattering the fragile bond that her movement had erected between them.

Slowly, Paton began to relax, his posture sagging back into a comfortable range, the tension and fear draining from his face and leaving him looking rather contented. Tentatively, he flipped one of his hands over, cradling her much smaller hand in his large palm, fingers trailing lightly along her silken skin.

Now it was Julia's turn to freeze, her breath hitching in her chest at the contact, her skin tingling as his fingertips traced a gentle pattern along the back of her hand.

How long they sat like that neither could say. It was Paton who finally broke the spell, stilling his hands and simply holding one of hers between both of his own. "I think," he said slowly, looking across the table to stare intently into her eyes, "that I should like to take you out to dinner."

The invitation was so surprising that for a moment Julia forgot to respond, sitting limply in her seat, her hands putty in his own. Remembering herself, she recalled her brain from whatever field trip it had taken and managed to stammer out a suitable sentence of acceptance. "That…that would be lovely," she said, a slight blush staining her already-rosy cheeks.

Paton smiled, a true, brilliantly white smile that slowly spread to cover his whole face. "Excellent," he said, then planted a light kiss to her knuckles. "I look forward to it."

Julia was staggered. Her skin burned from where his lips had brushed it, and her face felt as though it were aflame. She met his smile with one of her own, beaming more brightly than the sun that bore down on them from above.

"So do I," she replied. "So do I.


	28. Endowment

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, hombres.**

****Well, I'm not doing too badly with updates now. They're relatively short, but they say what I want them to say so I'm just going to roll with this streak of productivity. As per request, here is a chapter on Paton and Julia's reconciliation (of sorts) following the disastrous first date.

As always, read, enjoy, and please take the time to review.

* * *

"A power booster, hmm?" Julia stood with her weight on one leg, hand on her hip. Her face wore an openly-speculative expression, polite disbelief spread evenly across her face. Her lips quirked in the makings of a friendly smile, inviting him to offer an explanation in favor of or against the rather preposterous-sounding claim.

Paton ducked his head, mind filled with the fresh memories of their disastrous evening out. "Yes," he murmured, uncertain of how she would react to hearing it pass his own lips, hesitant to verify the affirmation and risk driving her away. He feared more than anything else that she would cast him aside, deem him a freak and walk out of his life. It had happened before—he didn't think he could bear to see it happen again.

Julia was one of a kind; he would never find her equal, not if he searched up and down the world.

Julia's brows drew together as Paton confirmed his rather unique situation. It was clear that she had been anticipating his brushing it off as some great joke, a farce created by Charlie to justify his uncle's unseemly behavior. She had not been prepared for Paton to follow through with Charlie's explanation—indeed had already planned the accusatory conversation that she had been certain was to follow.

Paton was different—she had realized this from their initial meeting, and indeed, had been drawn in by his mysterious allure. How unique he truly was, though, was only just beginning to come to light.

"So," she said tentatively, when Paton continued to stand in silence, head bowed, "what does being a power booster actually _entail_?" Her lips turned up in a slight smile. "Other than breaking light bulbs, I mean."

At her question, an electric shot jolted sharply trough Paton; she was still there, had not yet left him, was even _curious _about his unfortunate abilities. "I don't _always _break them," he defended himself, lifting his head to meet her eyes in a defiant gaze. "The energy I emit simply strengthens the electricity powering them, and if I linger too long or lose my focus, _then _they explode.

"The energy you emit?" Julia stepped over to him, leaving the sanctuary of her doorway to cross the courtyard to where he lurked. She had been shutting down shop and had happened to glance out the window and see him passing by, lurking but not lurking, looking casually conspicuous as he crossed in front of the store. Reaching him, she peered up into his face, walking around him in a circle and eying him as one might examine a prime specimen of livestock.

Paton squirmed under her scrutiny. "I'm not sure how else to describe it. It only really affects electricity—lights are the most obvious, of course, but I've noticed effects on appliances and other electrically-powered items as well."

"Huh." Julia stepped back and leveled him with an accusatory stare. "And you never saw fit to share this information?"

A wry laugh slipped out before Paton could catch it. "And say what, exactly, my dear? 'Julia, you look absolutely beautiful this evening. Oh, do you mind if we dine only by candlelight? I happen to explode light bulbs when I am distracted from my control of my freakish endowment'." He laughed again. "What would you have thought?"

Julia pursed her lips, irritated that he was absolutely right. Her practical mind would have simply dismissed it all as some elaborate ploy to make her feel ridiculous.

Noticing her uncomfortable silence, Paton nodded sagely. "I thought so."

"But now," Julia began, rubbing her hands over her arms—

0—"But now you know," Paton finished looking at her with his sable, serious gaze. "The question now is what you plan to do with that knowledge."

Julia could read the myriad of emotions roiling in his eyes, clamoring for attention and recognition. He was terrified that his secret was out, mortified that she was aware of his freakish abilities, and horribly guilty regarding their failed dinner. His eyes burned with the desire for acceptance, and bore the long-suffering agony of one who has never received it. From his posture, she could tell he expected her to turn away, to walk out of his life right then and there and never again have anything to do with him.

Therefore, it came as an incredible shock when Julia instead stepped forward and tentatively reached a hand out to his arm, resting it gently on his wrist. "Well," she said, "What would you have me do?"

It was an honest question, pure in its intent and devoid of any mockery or hidden cruelty. Never in any of his years had anyone asked that of Paton. To have someone consider his opinion, his thoughts and emotions, was a foreign concept. He was Paton the power booster, Paton the freak—his thoughts and emotions didn't matter.

Yet, here was this wonderful,beautiful, magnificent woman standing before him telling him that she would not walk away, that his unseemly abilities had not—at least immediately—sent her running in the opposite direction. "What would..._I_ have you do?" He repeated the words slowly, not daring to believe them, eyes lighting with ill-suppressed hope.

Julia nodded, fingers still tentatively curled about his wrist.

"I—" Paton stopped and wet his lips. "I would ask that you do as you have been, that you remain a wonderful woman and continue to treat me as your equal and friend. You are remarkable, Julia, and these past few months have been more than anything I ever could have imagined—a balm to soothe some of the loneliness in my soul. Remove that, take that from me due to some trait I cannot control, and I do not know what I will do."

Julia's fingers unconsciously pressed against his wrist. "Only a friend," she asked, voice soft.

Paton clearly wanted to answer in the negative, but memories of long-past events and his sense of self-preservation held him back. Finally, after a great struggle had played out across his face, he sighed. "No," he said, relenting, turning the wrist she grasped and flipping it to catch her fingers in his. "Not only a friend."

It was all he said, and for the moment, it was enough.

Julia looked down at their loosely-conjoined fingers, ran the possible scenarios through her mind—and every time, the outcome was appealing. She had heard of the Red King already, and certainly knew his descendants still walked the world—she even suspected Emma might possess certain…qualities, should she finally meet the girl. Knowing and seeing and believing are all completely different entities, however, and to stand here before this wonderful, darkly intriguing man and have him tell her outright that he was descended from that same king—and not only that, but was possessed with some vestiges of that same otherworldly power—and to tell her that he was attracted to her, enamored by her, even…well, it far surpassed anything she might have ever imagined.

When Julia failed to come forth with any sort of reply, Paton frowned and began to turn away, eyes downcast and shaded with disappointment he refused to enunciate.

Seeing this, Julia moved quickly, catching his hand in hers once more and forcing him to turn back and face her. "That works for me," she said quietly.

Paton froze where he stood. "What did you say?"

Julia chose her words carefully, aware that a single misstep could send him flying in the opposite direction. "I said I would like to try a relationship with you. You are a fascinating, kind, brilliant man, and you intrigue me in a way that no other person ever has—even _without _your endowment." She gave him a brilliant smile. "Why should something as silly as power boosting drive me away from you? It only adds to your allure." She gave a soft laugh, then became slightly more serious. "If we try to make this work, Paton," she said, now solemn, "we have to be honest with each other. No hiding traits we find 'freakish,' no sparing each other's feelings—none of that. We are equals, and if you have something that is bothering you or threatening you—yes, I am well aware of the dangers that plague the King's descendants—you have to tell me. Otherwise, it cannot work." She finished her impromptu speech and looked at him, eyes blazing.

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Paton simply stood where he had stopped, hand hanging limply in her grasp. "You…you are something else, my dear," he finally said, his voice hoarse. Seizing both of her hands in his, he drew them to his mouth and pressed his lips against them. "I promise," he said fervently, "only honesty from here on out. No great secrets, no reservations—I'll be as forthcoming as my nature allows me to be." He smiled, and for the first time in a long while it reached his eyes, setting the sable orbs aglow with a brilliant gleam.

Julia met his smile with one of her own, tapping a finger lightly on his cheek. "And that is all I can ask."

Still beaming, Paton swept her into an enormous hug, casting aside any and all reservations and simply seizing the moment. As if to punctuate the moment, the lights in the shop's front display flickered, their glow swelling to enormous proportion, and then popped, glass shattering and falling with a light tinkle to frost the ancient books below with a new, sharper layer of dust.


	29. Home

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

****Yes, I know it's been a while, but, hey-here's an update! Also, I have the next one written as well, so expect that within the next week or so! Cheers!

* * *

He stood out before his tent, the only living soul for miles around, a tall speck standing out amid a long-barren field. His research took him far, carrying him through countries and across continents, fording seas and streams and driving down dirt-packed roads long devoid of travelers.

Every now and then he would pass through a town or city, stop for a bite of real food and a snippet of human interaction, pausing for a stint of necessary local research. Then it was off again, his humanity merely a half-filled glass, a melancholy pang throbbing in his heart as he bent his being to his task once more.

Nights like these were the hardest, these brisk, cool autumn nights where he stood alone, isolated from the world and all of its inhabitants. He stood an exile, cast out amid the very heart of nature with only his thoughts for company.

It had been a full month since had been home, thirty-two long, lonely days since he had spoken to his family, since he had even the most ephemeral glimpse of Julia's face. It had been an entire week since he had even seen another human being; the last gas station he had passed had been deserted, the sort of pay and self-service sort of deal one encounters on the outskirts of civilization.

He loathed these nights, where he had not met with another person in days, had not eaten anything other than soup and energy bars. He longed to be home—his _real _home, in Julia's glowing, candle-lit back room, a mug of hot chocolate (his guilty fall pleasure) cupped in his hands, a book propped open in his lap and Julia's head snuggled into the crook of his neck.

But, no.

He was out in the middle of nowhere, tent erected in the shadow of his van and all but eclipsed by the darkness. He was alone amid the waving grass, solo beneath the star-speckled October sky.

He could camp in the van, of course—and had done so on many occasions—but experience had taught him that a tent and sleeping bag were warmer bedding than the interior of a metal van.

A crisp wind filtered through the air, ruffling his hair and eliciting a violent shiver. Drawing his coat more tightly about himself, Paton knelt and unzipped his tent, unlacing his boots and kicking them off to a corner as he sealed himself inside. The interior was moderately warmer than outdoors—only marginally, true, but at least the wind was shut out.

Paton sighed and shrugged out of his jacket, jumping just as quickly into the warm thermal he had brought to wear to sleep. His body shook with cold for a few moments as the cloth, cool from its time incumbent in his bag, slowly matched his body temperature. He hated the cold, hated that he had to isolate himself in such a manner from everything and everyone he cared about.

Julia…

Paton closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift away, rising up out of his body and fluttering away to happier times. Slowly his shivers ceased as his body heat filtered through the small tent and generated a growing thermal cocoon within his sleeping bag. His eyes grew heavy as the day's efforts caught up with him and subdued his wandering thoughts. Black lashes fluttered and slowly san, eclipsing sable eyes that overflowed with exhaustion.

"Paton," Julia's voice rang sweetly in his ear, a calming draught that washed over him, a soothing balm that eased the burning ache in his chest. His vision blurred for a moment as he struggled to bring the scene into focus. Dragging himself into this new reality, he broke through the surface of the haze, a drowning man breaching the water's filmy surface after hours of effort.

He stood out in front of the bookshop, the last vestiges of the afternoon sun sinking beyond the horizon and throwing out faint tendrils of amber and pin that reached up to tickle the encroaching darkness with waving fingers.

Julia stood at his side, a glorious smile on her lips, chestnut hair cascading down around her shoulders to coalesce at the small of her back, the silky strands catching the final solar rays and shimmering with a luminous golden glow. She wore a long coat, a white silk scarf peeking out at the hollow of her throat, shielding her form the worst bite of the brisk autumn wind. White-gloved hands clutched his arm as she leaned into his side, turning that beaming smile to his face. "You've truly outdone yourself, Paton," she said, her voice infused with all of the warmth the crisp night air lacked.

He turned and met her smile with one of his own. "Why thank you, my dear," he replied, a sense of smug satisfaction infiltrating his voice.

As one, they turned to face the front of the book store, recently re-decorated in honor of the season. Candle-lit pumpkins gleamed in each display case, grinning out at their carvers with geometric smiles. Even more candles shone in the windows, imbibing the homey shop with a luminescent, orange warmth that emphasized the familial comforts of fall as well as the otherworldliness of the rapidly-approaching holiday. Ruby-colored leaves rustled as the wind increased in intensity, and a few scarlet and vermillion gems fluttered to the cobbled ground.

Julia flexed her fingers within their gloves and relaxed her grip on Paton's arms, turning instead into his warm, welcoming embrace. "Shall we go inside, love?" she murmured, the movement of her cool lips upon the hollow of his throat eliciting a shiver and causing goosebumps to erupt across his chilled flesh.

"A sound suggestion, dear Julia," he murmured in return, his voice a soothing rumble against her chest.

They slipped into the shop, careful to keep the heavy door open as little as possible to conserve the heat that radiated throughout the building. They moved in tandem to the back room, Paton's hand on the small of Julia's back as he escorted her across the floor. Once secure from the cold, they shed their thick outer layers, Paton draping his long, black coat across the back of his favorite squashy armchair, Julia setting her tan version neatly aside in the closet.

The room crackled with a warmth both tangible and innate, the air laced with an undercurrent of desire and affection that piggybacked the comforting aura exuded by the crackling hearth and twinkling candles.

Paton settled down on the couch, forgoing his chair in favor of company, stretching his long legs out in front of him and situating himself back against the overstuffed cushions. Julia joined him without his having to ask, tucking her feet up beneath herself and curling into his side.

They sat like that for a long while, no words necessary to communicate the serenity of the situation. Julia's arms snaked around his torso as she snuggled up against him, nestling her head in the crook of his neck and resting her cheek on his shoulder. "This is nice," she murmured, closing her eyes and allowing the warmth of the moment to overwhelm her. Gradually, her breathing and body grew heavy as she relaxed against him, and she drifted off into the world of dreams.

Paton smiled tenderly, looking down at the woman using him as a glorified pillow. Gently, so as not to disturb her tranquil state, he reached out one hand and smoothed the hair back from her face. She was an angel—his angel— and still he wondered how she had ever come to choose him.

They say that home is where the heart is, and Paton could not agree more; Julia was his heart, his soul, and his life, and sitting there with her in the crackling warmth of the fire was more than anything Paton had ever imagined for himself. Unconsciously, his own mind wandered and his vision blurred as he, too, sank away into sleep's comforting embrace.

He awoke alone to a heatless, empty vacuum, his sleeping bag wrapped around him and his tent so cold he couldn't feel his feet. Paton sighed and sank back against the hard tent floor; back to reality, it seemed. He thought longingly of Julia, and the homey scene he had just exited, and despair almost overcame him until he remembered that _he _was the one away, and that soon his travels would take him home—home, where Julia would be waiting.


	30. Ruin

**Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it isn't mine.**

Well, dearies, here is the next installment in our saga of Paton's life. Here's a little blurb exploring a snippet of Paton's school days and the origin of the rather unique blade he carries into the final battle in the last book of the series. This actually isn't the chapter I referenced last time when I said I had already written another; that one (and _another_, if you can believe it) are waiting to make the jump from my notebook to my computer. So, be prepared for an onslaught of updates. Are you excited yet? I know I am; I am in the writing zone lately, and I am going to roll with it!

As always, read, enjoy, and _please _review; I love to receive any and all feedback.

* * *

Paton pursed his lips, casting an anxious glance around the area. They would choose tonight to hold the first ruin scavenger hunt in over three decades. The air was cool and crisp, the sky sable and speckled with a bright dusting of stars and host to a glowing silver moon—_and _it was All Hallow's Eve.

Students were lined up along the edge of the abandoned castle yard, trading nervous glances and shifting back and forth, rubbing their arms, in a half-hearted attempt to stave off the cold. The air hummed with a nervous energy that was laced with thick undercurrents of excitement. After all, the ruin was a mystery—typically forbidden, dark and daunting, and probably the most appealing playground imaginable for an adolescent on Halloween.

Purple, green, and blue-cloaked bodies exchanged excited whispers, faces glowing in the lunar light as they stole repeated glances at the dark turrets protruding from the heavily-wooded yard beyond. Anticipation sat heavily in the air, a heady tonic to teens long-bereft of any adventure.

One member of the group was not so enthusiastic.

Paton stood apart from his contemporaries, aloof in his distrust of the apparent spectacle. He had a certain acquaintance with the Bloors and their inner circle—courtesy of his sisters and their…associations—and knew quite well that these "games", so to speak, were always backed by some sinister motive. People disappeared in those ruins. Children went in and did not return; unidentified belongings were recovered and masked, their owners' identities forever a mystery.

There had not been a scavenger hunt in the Red King's castle since years prior to Paton's arriving at the school; he wondered who had so displeased the current regime, who had so upset the status quo to the point that the Bloors and their ilk were provoked into such a state of agitation as was being displayed.

The thoughts weighed heavily on his mind, chipped away at the conscience necessity often dictated he keep sealed away. He should warn his classmates, should intimate that this night was more than it appeared, that all was not as innocent as it seemed—but to what end? If he risked speaking up, no one would listen. He was the resident pariah, living in a semi-imposed state of hermitdom that he welcomed with open arms. He was Powerless Paton, a name cruelly inflicted by those who saw some double meaning in his endowment ("_What good is bursting light bulbs?" _they would mock. _"You'd be toast against any _real _endowment"_).

And, even if he were to obtain and hold the attention of an audience, it would only serve to shift the Bloor's—and his sisters'—animosity toward _him. _He had been living safely on the fringe of their evilness for eight years; he was not about to sacrifice his established neutrality now, for what _could _prove to be a threat. If he jumped at every ill-flavored deed, he would have long since disappeared himself. People who crossed the Bloors, who defied his sisters, tended to vanish very soon after.

Tonight, on this moonlit Halloween, he expected similar results; somewhere amid those tangled thorns, thick trees, and scattered stone ruins, one of his classmates would learn a lesson that he or she would not soon forget.

He flinched as he thought of this, recoiling from the haunting, accusatory glare of his conscience that seared a deep brand into his psyche. He should not be so complacent, should not allow such acts of malcontent to progress. It was _wrong_, and innocents were going to be harmed.

But, he was only one person, one single, young, powerless joke of an endowed teenager. What could he do in the face of Ezekiel and Harold Bloor and the motley assortment of mutants and monsters that flocked to their standard?

Frowning furiously at these frustrating thoughts, Paton shook his head and returned his attention to the present just as a hush stole over the assembled students, sweeping across the courtyard in a fluid ripple. Ezekiel Bloor wheeled himself out before the group, flanked by Grizelda and Lucretia Yewbeam and his son Harold, recently returned from university abroad. "Good evening, students," he said, attempting a friendly smile as he surveyed the assembled student body. The result was a toothy leer, the predatory smirk of a collector valuing his miasma of trinkets.

"Tonight we bring back a Bloor's tradition—the ruin scavenger hunt. Somewhere at the heart of this maze sits an artifact of great value—a token, of sorts. The student who finds this item and returns with it will receive immunity from detention and have priority status at meals for the duration of the year." He paused to allow the excited whispers die away.

"Any student who refuses to participate," he continued, eyes narrowing as he passed a dangerous look across the crowd, "will face severe consequences. Everyone _must _enter the maze and remain for at least half an hour."

One girl, a bold senior flaunting the drama department's purple cape, raised her hand.

"Yes?" Ezekiel acknowledged her query with a raised brow.

"What _is _the artifact, sir?" she asked. "So we know what we're looking for."

A pleased smile swept cross Ezekiel's face. It was evident he had been waiting for someone to pose this very question. "It is a sword," he said, a hungry gleam in his eye, "so slim it could barely be called such, about three feet long from hilt to the tip of the blade." A queer light lit up his face. "Even _we _do not know where it is—just that it will appear tonight to one very lucky student."

Suddenly all of the pieces fit together. This was not about punishment; it was about obtaining some weapon or artifact of the King's, of using some hapless student as a means of obtaining a weapon too pure for them to possess themselves.

Paton idly wondered what was significant about the blade, but his thoughts soon turned to more practical matters and he contemplated how he would spend his mandatory thirty minutes within the maze. He had no intention of trying to win, and certainly not of doing the Bloor's dirty work for them. No, he would just wander in a few hundred yards and wait it out.

Things had progressed while Paton was distracted, and he returned to awareness just in time to hear the groundskeeper, a burly, cantankerous old man, blow a short blast on a silver whistle to announce the start of the hunt.

The students surged forward, a single, massive wave of blue and green and purple. Paton let the worst of it pass and then slipped into the maze.

The dense foliage blocked the silvery light of the moon, and his pupils dilated, all black now but for two thin crescents of white, to adjust to the drastic shift in visibility. A badly-hewn rocky path stretched out before him, overrun with tendrils of creeping weeds and bushy thorns. He scrambled along it, tripping and stumbling over loose stones strewn across the path.

Calling the castle a ruin was no exaggeration. Rocky ruins sat along the path, trace remnants of some form of wall framing the walkway with its stony skeleton. Paton trailed a light hand along it as he walked, feeling the cool contours of the uneven rock passing beneath his fingers.

He could hear the crashes and conversations that served as telltale signs of his classmates' progress, and deliberately took a sharp left that led him in the opposite direction of the clamor.

His wanderings took him deeper and deeper into the ruin, beneath brilliant trees of red and gold that had not yet been affected by the gravitational pull of the cooler weather. Broken, grotesque statues leered down at him, eyeing him with headless faces and reaching out for him with arms that had long since broken away. An eerie gray mist hovered centimeters from the ground, writhing and twisting in a horribly sentient manner. Tendrils of it reared up to caress Paton's ankles, twining up and around his legs like a coiling serpent.

He shuddered—its touch was icy cold.

Suddenly the path he had been following disappeared, widening into a large, open courtyard. Strangely, this was the most established portion of the ruin he had encountered—yet it was set in the very heart of the desolation. The ground was cobbled with white marble, luminescent in the moonlight pouring through a hole in the high-domed, columnar ceiling. Trees peeked through gaps in the spiraled columns, their jeweled branches waving the autumn wind.

Paton stopped for a moment to appreciate the scene with an appropriate amount of awe. There was something so serene and surreal about the design, something beautiful in the blending of natural and man-made elements. He felt an intruder, a foreign element imposed on this long-hidden Eden.

In the center of the courtyard, framed by a small, clear pool of indeterminable depth, stood a small pedestal. The pedestal held a rock of considerable size, the slab of granite taking Paton by surprise as it alone, of all the marvels in this place, was exactly what it appeared to be—a chunk of rock, dull, misshapen, and altogether ordinary.

Then he saw the sword.

He shut his eyes tightly and rubbed them, shaking his head in denial. Not here, not now. Not _him._

Black eyes opened and glinted with resigned disappointment; the sword remained where he had first espied it, embedded deep within the blocky grey stone.

Paton scowled, glaring up at the sky. "Fate hates me," he muttered, turning the glare upon the gleaming weapon. "I survived eight years at the mercy of my sisters only to die at the age of fifteen because some _sword _decides to play Excalibur." He frowned and shifted from foot to foot, desperately trying to force his body to turn and leave, to put the sword and all of the mysteries and adventures it promised behind him.

It was impossible.

Now that he had seen the sword, had tasted the forbidden fruit, he was lost; he had to approach.

Drawn by forces he could not control, his feet carried him up to the sword and stone. Without realizing he made the gesture, his arm reached out to the sword, hovering mere centimeters above the metallic hilt and leather-wrapped pommel. Paton hesitated, glanced down at the gleaming silver weapon that offered itself to him.

He knew if he took this sword, the moment his skin brushed against that metal, he could never again be considered "neutral" in the war between the King's descendants. Something long dormant flickered to life within him, igniting from a feeble flame into a burning blaze. His resolve hardened, his courage surged, and he closed his fingers around the padded hilt, skin and sword meeting with an electric surge that sent him reeling. Electricity coursed through his body, igniting every nerve and synapse, burning him with a searing, agonizing power that raced through his entire being.

Gasping, panting as though he had just run half a marathon, he released the blade and staggered back, eyes wide with awe, burning with residual shock and power.

Something about that sword…it felt as though it were _made _for him. But for such an object to choose _him_, a weapon of such immense power to deem _him _worthy…

Tentatively he approached the sword once more, an animal trainer approaching his uncompromising charge. He grasped the hilt once more and tugged; with one fluid motion the word slid free of its stony sheath, all sleek silver and sharp steel. He could feel the electricity pulsing beneath his fingers.

The sword…it was a manifestation of his endowment. It channeled the energy that coursed throughout his veins, the power that usually could only find an outlet in the electrical devices of his world. He screwed up his face in concentration, channeling the electric energy that was constantly surging beneath his skin.

The steel sparked, then ignited with a crackle of lightning, bolts streaking and jumping along the length of the blade. Paton grinned, the fierce grin of a fighter that drove away all traces of the timid boy from before. This…this was a _weapon. His _weapon, his alone—he knew of no other individual, no other endowment, similar to his own.

This sword was _his_, his to wield and bend to his will. It was meant to defend and protect, to unite and safeguard. It was not a destroyer or a slayer, but a guardian. It meant for its wielder to be good and genuine, to do right by any and all who needed it.

Paton sensed this, knew inherently the costs of accepting such a weapon, such a burden. He knew, and he chose. He took the sword, flicked his wrist, and sent a helix of lightning coiling down the blade. He made his choice—and his choice, in return, made him.


	31. Significance

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Charlie Bone, even after all of this time...**

Yes, I lied. It's been two months; I know. I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I do actually have a legitimate excuse: I was in treatment for an eating disorder over the holidays, and the past two months I've been just living and enjoying life and getting back into work.

Oh, and let's not forget falling in love with everything Doctor Who. I'm so far gone into that fandom it's not even funny.

However, I'm back now, actually honestly truly back.

If you're new to Illuminations and my stories, welcome. Scary to say, I think I've actually been around long enough now where I might pick up some new readers. If you've been following me for a while, I'm sorry I've been depriving you of Paton-centric stuff, and I promise to make it up to you...in many wonderful ways.

As with all my stories, if you enjoy it, please leave a review! If you don't like it, please review anyway! I love as much feedback as possible!

* * *

Darkness clung to the road like a shroud, hovering over the worn dirt and wrapping all beneath it in its black blanket. The air was warm, the result of a hotter-than-average late spring day, and heady with a thick shroud of humidity . Paton's feet made little noise as he strode along the lane, silty sand and sandy soil caressing his bare toes as he walked. He seldom wore shoes here when the weather permitted, instead preferring to meander along with nothing between the soles of his feet and the ground.

A warm wind wafted through the overhanging trees, brushing through branches laden with rich green leaves. It created a soothing sigh, the sound whispering through the otherwise-still air and mingling with the resonant sound of the waves lapping at the distant shore.

Paton inhaled deeply, letting the wind and water and salty tang of the air assail his senses. Throwing back his head, he paused in his aimless wandering and simply gazed upward at the stars, their bright glow pinpricks of light dotting the nighttime sky.

These were the only lights he could not extinguish-his friends and companions for countless years, his solace even when days seemed their darkest. This was his haven, his sanctuary—a place which granted him comfort when the rest of the world had none to offer. This little peninsula, just off to the right of his father's home, had been his solace since he had first discovered it as a teen, investigating the surrounding waters and land as a teen with the reckless abandon he withheld from all other aspects of his life.

He sighed and passed a hand across his brow; he was getting nostalgic in his old age. The road—or trail, really—offered little in terms of a walkway. In reality it was merely a path worn into the ground by countless repetitious wandering by him and the local deer population. It served its purpose, though, and he had traversed its winding way enough times so that every cranny and crevice was immutably carved into his brain.

The wind picked up pace, ghosting over arms and legs bared by a dark tee shirt and an old pair of shorts—hardly his usual attire, but much more comfortable and practical than his typical public fare.

The little spit of land on which he now trod had been inhabited once, decades ago, by tourists who preferred the solitude the peninsula offered to the more mainstream beach houses further along the way. Remnants of their stilted houses remained, scattered across the far side of the peninsula and facing a winding tidal creek that wrapped around to connect with the sea beyond.

There were a few docks that yet remained as well, rickety wooden things that protruded out into the water like spindly spider's legs. Paton knew them intimately, knew just where to skip a rotten board or skirt a jagged nail, and he found himself ambling along the longest of the lot, stilling only when he reached the juncture of the boardwalk and wooden float. He sat and let his feet dangle over the edge, the waves lapping at his calves and the current tickling his toes.

"Heaven," he murmured, flopping back to rest against the boards, eyes open and staring at the sky above. He used ot dream about space when he was younger, idealize the thought of other worlds and other people, other beings that were different and could make _anything_ possible.

His eyes tracked the constellations one by one, meeting the glimmering specks with his sable gaze. His breathing deepened as he followed the familiar route, and he found his eyes drifting closed of their own accord.

Sometime later—and a decent amount of time had to have passed, for the moon now sat high in the apex of the sky—he came back to himself, mind foggy and sluggish as his sleep-laden senses struggle dot interpret the sound and sensation of footsteps reverberating across the dock.

Paton pushed himself up on his elbows, lifting his back away from its wooden bed, and craned his neck in a vain search for the intruder to his little world. Seeing no one and lacking the energy or urgency to care, he simply returned to his supine state, eyelids slipping closed.

"I know you're there," he said by way of invitation, hoping his obvious awareness and apathy would be enough of a hint to drive away the unexpected company.

"You never came back, and I got worried."

Whatever answer he had been expecting, Julia's soft voice floating over the lull of the waves was not it. His eyes flew open as he suddenly remembered that he had not visited James alone this time, as he so often had before. This time he had brought Julia along—for the first time, actually—and had completely forgotten. "Julia!" His own voice was raspy from disuse and thick with sleep. "I'm so sorry; I couldn't sleep and thought a walk would clear my mind, and—"

She shushed him with one cool finger pressed over his lips. "I know, love, I know." Smoothing a hand gently across his furrowed brow, she lowered herself to sit beside him, dipping her own feet into the creek and lacing her fingers through those of the hand he had resting on his stomach. "What are you thinking about?"

Barking out a dry laugh, Paton slid his gaze from the stars in the sky to those in her eyes. "Everything," he answered, "and nothing. Life, death—nights like this, out here exposed to the universe, a raw nerve to be played like a string, I feel so many indescribable things." He sighed and closed his eyes, releasing her from his burning gaze. "I feel at once connected and cut off, in sync with all that is, was, and ever could be, yet at the same time never more aware of my mortality."

Held in thrall by his speech, Julia leaned infinitesimally closer, hovering ever so near to him as she drank in his words and presence, a desert wanderer parched for thirst and discovering a luscious oasis amid an ocean of desolation. Just when she thought she had unearthed the majority of Paton's personality, she experienced moments like these that served to circumvent all attempts to comprehend her husband.

"My Paton, the philosopher," she murmured, the understanding with which she uttered the words negating their teasing quality. "My poor Paton." She laid down alongside him, shifting so that she could face him, resting most of her weight on her left arm. "Your brain is constantly in motion, ever ceasing, ever conceding defeat—always watching, worrying, wondering."

"All the time." He sighed deeply and traced his thumb over the back of the hand he held. "Always." Opening his eyes once more, he turned heavenward with a slight smile. "It works here, though, so tranquil and isolated and _real_. I have room to sit with my thoughts, a setting which fully encapsulates the enormity of the universe and the true insignificance of the human race in the grand scheme of eternity. "

Eyes alight with infinite ideas burned into hers, searing their impression into her mind. "What must we look like to the universe, the galaxy, even the _earth_? Sure we are insects, Julia, insects crawling about this giant web of time and space, with no true direction or destination." Overcome with wonder, he shook his head. "It truly serves to put things in perspective."

Almost as if in answer to his words, the breeze picked up, a zephyr of fluttering air passing over the water and ghosting across their faces, ruffling hair and offering a cool, ephemeral caress.

Lost in the moment, drowning in nature and eternity and submerged in Paton's words, Julia _felt _it. She caught a glimpse of the true timelessness of time, danced through thoughts of life and death and being and nonbeing and everything in between. Sitting there on that dock with Paton, her slim hand in his and her body stretched out along his larger, warmer one, Julia felt tiny—a miniscule blip on the universe's radar.

"I don't mind it," she said suddenly, her voice sounding unnatural to her as it slit neatly through the silence settled around them. Seeing Paton's querying look, she clarified. "Being human, being little. We get to learn, to love, to _live_—if that's what insignificance is, I'll take it."

A joyful laugh burst from Paton's lips and he rolled over on his side to face her, reaching over with his left hand to trail a light touch along the cheek not pillowed on her hand. "Julia," he intoned, awe lacing his words, "You are absolutely brilliant." She blushed and he chased it with his thumb, following the pink path along her fine cheekbones. "I mean it," he insisted, "and among we miniscule humans, you, my dear, are a giant."

Her teeth flashed white in the moonlight and she leaned in close to his face. "Is that so?" she asked, breath ghosting across his skin in a touch reminiscent to but completely different from that of the earlier wind.

"It is," he promised, his eyes declaring all the emotions that his words did not.

"Well, I'll tell you a secret," she confessed, skin luminescent in the lunar light and glowing with life and love for the man beside her. "If I'm a giant," she breathed against his mouth, the lightest of touches, "it's because I've had _you _to look up to."


End file.
